Forged In Ice : A Prelude
by BlueMist125
Summary: The time of peaceful watch has come to an end. The Mad King has done his last deed. The Wolf and The Stag have joined and together shall rise in rebellion. This is a prelude in the original timeline of ASOIAF, setting in the era of Robert's Rebellion. EU/ a bit AU content.
1. Chapter 1 - Cedric Amberforge

A/N : Hello and welcome to the very first chapter of Forged in Ice! It's been a long fantasy of mine to tackle the world of ASOIAF and now the first chapter is done! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed making it.

* * *

Chapter 1

Cedric Amberforge

"They grew up so fast, don't they Ed?" said Thalia Amberforge beside him. He had known and grown close with her these last seventeen years as his wife. She gripped his arms lovingly. Her sea blue eyes watched over below. She was of course looking at the four children that were playing in the courtyard. The boys were practicing their swordplay and the girls were practicing archery. Somehow that made Ed a proud father.

Their marriage was a happy one and it produced four children, two boys and two girls. The night that Ed bedded his wife for the first time was also the night his wife conceived their first child. The firstborn was surprisingly a daughter much to everyone's dismay, especially Ed's father. It is a common held belief that a firstborn daughter brings bad luck to the family. Ed dismissed those claims as nothing more than a false superstition.

Ed had named his first daughter, Edelyn. The name was derived from the beautiful Edelweiss flower, Ed's first love. Its white pure snow petals were almost native to Amberhill. Ed and Thalia's second and third children were twins. They both have their mother's green eyes and their father's coal black hair. Their names were Ash and Hazel. This time it was Thalia's choice. She'd named them after the trees of the forest where she used to play in her childhood. The last child was a daughter, whom they'd named Andrea together. She was named after Cedric's grandmother.

Seventeen years he had not grown tired of the love that she'd given him. It was an acquired taste that he had grown fond over the years. It was originally an arranged marriage, courtesy of his father. An uneasy diplomatic resolution to territorial dispute with House Mountainhole over a portion of Amberhill, their chief source of red iron for smithing.

Thalia gripped his arms a bit harder. "You should be worried about them playing in this dastardly weather." Ed held his wife's arm in reply. It was cold. He knew the weather was to blame. _Winter is Coming_ or so they say in Winterfell.

It's always winter here in his home Ambervale, the high seat of House Amberforge in the foot of Amberhill. His house was technically a vassal of the North, but the precarious location of the demense still lead to heated arguments. Ambervale was located in a lone island, off the coast of The Fingers. Though it is not big, it is the only place in the whole Westeros where amber iron is bountiful. The reddish metal is soft enough to malleate but when it is cooled, it is as hard and sharp as Valyrian Steel. The occasional mist coming down from Amberhill didn't help. Ed held his head up and breaths in the cold air. It felt refreshing.

Ed turned to his wife and assured her. "The children will be fine. Besides, they need to be strong in cold. _Winter is Coming_." The warning sounded eerily true. He felt the wind picked up. It gave him shivers. The wind seems dead and unnatural. Something is wrong up north. He can't explain it, but he can feel it.

"Lord Amberforge!" A deep voice suddenly called out from behind him. Heavy and brisk footsteps soon follows. "You are needed in the hall right away." Ed recognized it as Ser Lanyard Gossling, his castellan and the young son of Baine Gossling. He was a short man in stature with black hair and a bush of beard, but behind all that lies a shrewd mind of a capable steward and a sweet tongue of a diplomat. Their family have been a long line of castellan to the house of Amberforge since the founding of the house.

"There's a raven milord." His voice lowered as if hiding something. "Maester Woods have summoned the small council. We need you there." Thalia frowned beside Ed. He knew that she hated that he had to be dragged into a meeting with the council. More than one occasion that Thalia had complained that Cedric grew distant with his family because of it. More than one occasion that Cedric replied with the same answer that it is his duty as the head of the house.

"Who is it from, Lanyard?" Ed asked curiously. "And please don't tell me it's from Lord Manderly. I had enough of his proposal to last a lifetime." Cedric however had a feeling it was not Lord Manderly. It would not be that important for the council to convene."

"Not him milord," Lanyard answered. "It's from King Aerys." That name certainly caught Ed off guard. The last time the king had sent a letter was a long time ago. They said he locked himself up in the Red Keep because of the incident in Duskendale and hasn't come out since.

"There's also another letter milord," Lanyard continued.

"Who is it from?"

Lanyard paused, then he looked at Thalia and back at Cedric. "It's best if I explain it on the table milord. It's a delicate matter."

"Then Maester Woods is wise to call for us," Cedric answered finally. "If the message is of great importance then we must convene. I'll join you shortly Lanyard."

He turned to his wife and held her hand. "Watch the children for me, Thal." He took a one last glance to the children playing below. He remembered the times he enjoyed life like them, without remorse and burden, but that was a long time ago.

"Do you have to go Ed?" Thalia asked.

"Yes, it is my duty Thal, as always," Ed answered with a weigh.

Thalia sighed as her blue eyes drifted to the courtyard again. Cedrick knew being a wife of the head of a house is hard. They used to spend more time together and more importantly with the children. That all changed when his father and brother died in a hunting accident five years ago. He was then immediately named as Lord of Ambervale and Head of House Amberforge. Time was not a privilege that he can indulge on a whim again. There are times where he regretted not been able to see their children grow up or spend an evening with his wife.

Cedric gave a small smile of assurance and kissed his wife's forehead. "I'll be back soon." He turned away and walked down from the stone tower. Lanyard was already waiting below.

"Maester Woods and Ser Eryk have assembled at the hall," he said as they walked to the castle. "They're already intent on murdering each other."

Cedric sighed quietly. His Maester and Master-at-Arms have always position themselves the opposites of each other. It is not rare that Ed had to intervene and produce a solution that they both agreed to. It was because of this that Ed rarely enjoyed a council meeting. "Then we have to make sure that it doesn't happen, Lanyard." The castellan nodded.

The old and cold castle of Ambervale stood bulwark against the Amberhill behind it. The castle's size is modest if seen from the outside, but its real size was much bigger. A big portion of the castle was dug out of Amberhill. That part of the castle was barely touched by sunlight and used only for storage and the family crypt. The castle's main door was made out of solid red iron with bars of wood locked together in place.

They went past the door and into the inner hall of the castle. The air was much warmer and musty from the courtyard. Thick smell of burned black oak from the fireplace lingered in the air. The smell often recalled Cedric's past memories of his home when he was away.

Moonlight shone from the main window onto a table with two figures sitting on each side. Cedric recognized them as Maester Gill Woods and Ser Eryk Durane. Lanyard's assumption was not far from the truth. Cedric had heard arguing from the outside before things fell silent when he entered. Cedric took his seat and Lanyard opposite of him. Cedric always felt the iron chair didn't suit him and for good reasons too. The iron is cold and judgemental to them who seats on it. Hundreds of generation laid the heavy burden on his shoulder.

A two parchment of paper were laid in the middle of the moonlit table. Cedric grabbed it and read it while others sat there waiting for his reaction.

The letter was hastily scrawled in black ink. Three words adorn it :

_Rally the bannerman._

"Where did it come from, Maester?" Cedric asked curiously, although he had a vague sense of who did it.

"The raven came from the Vale milord. It came this morning, flying against the valley wind."

"The Vale?" Suddenly a thought of a person passed in Cedric's mind, the scion of The Eyrie's six tower and the Vale beneath. "Jon Arryn?"

"No. It is from Eddard Stark," Ser Eryk answered. "The letter was signed in his name. We must act quickly. The letter demands that we must call forward the bannerman of the North. After what happened to his father and brother, I can't really blame him."

He put the letter down and grabbed the other one. It is a much more elegant paper. The faint outline of three-headed sigil of House Daenerys adorn the back of the paper. Without even thinking twice, Cedric knew the paper had to came from King's Landing, maybe from the Red Keep itself. An air of influence hung low upon the paper.

Red letters adorn it and form a message which says :

_To Lord Cedric Amberforge,_

_Lord of Ambervale_

_Lord Cedric, I am writing to you on behalf of King Aerys II concerning a certain, shall we say, unrest in the West. A band of theives and traitors had declared an open, but futile, rebellion against the Iron Throne. As you may have known, it is headed by Robert Baratheon and backed by Lord Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark. The House Baratheon and Stark had been declared traitors by the Iron Throne, effectively opening a position for the Warden of the North. It is in the best interest of the crown that the open position will be handed to your house if, in return, you swear undying fealty to the Crown and provide us with weaponry. The offer is exclusive to your house till midnight the third day. I trust your judgement will not be impaired with blind loyalty to Eddard Stark._

_From,_

_Lord Owen Merryweather_

_Hand to King Aerys II_

Cedric knew the gravity of the situation. One wrong step would send his family down into obscurity, exile, or worst, death. He must also be decisive and cunning in dealing with state matter, as he had learnt from his grandfather. "We must act quickly, but cautiously now. First, we must know if it really is the Young Lord Stark who had sent the first letter. It could be a trick from one of our rivals. We cannot risk war in this state as we are not ready. The forges are cold and the mines are asleep in the winter."

The main door blew open and a voice suddenly broke the silence. "Which means that we need to call our blacksmiths and our miners back to work." Everyone on the table turned to look who it was. Thalia Amberforge strode through the empty hall with dignity to the table. She took a seat and sat on the far side. Thalia was welcome to take part, although she rarely comes willingly. This was an unexpected change of circumstances as she usually prefers to be with the children. Sometimes even Cedric felt that all this time, his wife was still a mystery to him.

"Lady Thalia, we didn't expect you to be here," Maester Gill greeted with surprise. The others followed in the same fashion. "If we knew you were coming, we would have made the place more...suitable."

"Very kind of you Master, but I also didn't expect to join you all in this meeting," she admitted. She reached into her pocket and produced a letter. "A raven came from the Eyrie addressed to me. My brother, the castellan there, sent me a letter. It said that Robert Baratheon had declared a rebellion against the Iron Throne." She paused before continuing as if not believing her own tongue, "Eddard Stark has swore fealty to Robert Baratheon. As with Lord Jon Arryn. Both of them promised to support Robert in this rebellion."

"This rebellion might not be just an 'unrest' as Lord Owen might put it." Ser Eryk realized. "They have the might of the North, Vale, and Storm's End in their back and are not to be taken lightly."

"How about the other great houses? The Lannisters, The Tyrells, The Martells, and The Greyjoy?" Cedric asked.

"We have not heard any proclamation from them, though I suspect the Lannisters and Tyrells will back the Iron Throne," Maester Woods said. "Those two conniving houses have always had an eye for the throne. They will take every chance to wed one of their own to the crown. Even Tywin Lannister himself is preparing his daughter to court Prince Rhaegar. As for the Martells and the Greyjoy, that I cannot say nor guess. The Martells are passionate ones, like their wine, and so, they are hard to forget some things. However, Princess Elia might tip the balance in the Targaryens favour. The Greyjoys were always eyeing for a land in the North. It would be only logical for the Greyjoys to join the Iron Throne. But then again, they are proud people."

There was, another silence at the table. In their stillness, everyone was beginning to realize that they were facing an imminent crisis and Cedric was torn at what to do. On one side, he must protect his family. He had wished to spare his children from the horrors of war. However, on the other hand, he must honor the Stark's call. A call to arms is an old call to which all loyal bannerman must heed. Those who do not heed will surely find their heads hang high above Winterfell's gate. Cedric still values his head on top of his shoulders

"Both of the letters confirm each other sire. Eddard Stark has chosen where he would stand. We must choose what we must do tonight. The wisest path is to follow Lord Stark and support the rebellion. Call our levy and warm the furnace with iron and fire. The trumpet of war has been sounded," Eryk reasoned.

"And do you want the wrath of Targaryens to step at our front door, Ser Eryk? We are playing a game that is dangerous to lose and much more dangerous to win. We need strong and landed allies," Maester Woods countered calmly.

Ser Eryk gave the Maester a scowl. His face was hot, red, and flowing with resentment. "Then what do you suggest Woods? We ally with the Targaryens and give in to their demands? The recent thing I checked, it was Stark's banner that stood beside ours in the great hall, not the Targaryens. It is Stark's honor that kept us independent all this years, not them. We owe those oppressors nothing!"

Thalia grabbed her husband's hand and gave him a slight nod. Cedric knew what that meant. He hit his fist onto the table once more. "Enough is enough! I will not see my advisors bickering while the problem is still there!" Both of the advisors lowered their head and shut their lips.

"If I may boldly say milord," Lanyard said. "I agree we must play this game smartly if we were to have a chance in survival. That's why we must join with the Targaryens."

Ser Eryk flared again. "Not you too Lanyard! Of all the-"

"Let me finish." Lanyard shot Eryk a look. He continued with a sly smile, "We will join the Targaryens, but who's to say that along the way, our shipments of weapon were 'attacked by pirates' and somehow they got to… say White Harbour and was used by the Rebellion? Surely not even the Targaryens can foresee through that ploy."

Lanyard paused to take a breath. "It is a win-win solution to an impossible problem. We will get the protection of the Iron Throne, our weapons will still support the Starks. If the Iron Throne wins, we will still keep the Warden of the North title. If the rebellion wins, I'm sure that we can arrange the appropriate rewards."

Lanyard's face told Cedric that he was very pleased with himself. Cedric himself was pleased with Lanyard's answer. He was becoming the kind of Castellan that House Amberforge needed at the moment. A person who was smart to play a game of chess with the Lion, Dragon and Wolf , but also loyal to the house.

Cedric couldn't help but smile also. A perfect solution to the problem. "We will ring the tower bell tomorrow morning. The miners and smiths will have to work again. As of tonight, we are allied with the Iron Throne and the Targaryens." Cedric hoped that he made the right decision. "Maester Woods, send two ravens. One to the Iron Throne and one to Lord Eddard Stark. Tell Stark what's our plan to handle this."

One by one, each of the advisor leaves the room, leaving Cedric alone with Thalia. Thalia's hand was still holding Cedric's. She sighed and snuggled close to her husband. Her eyes drifted to the burning embers on the hearth. They both didn't want to move anywhere and just enjoy the little time together. Cedric closed his eyes and focused his mind on the crackle of fire and his touch on his wife's nimble hand.

"It's been a while since we'd done this, Ed. I miss those times where you are fully mine. Nowadays you are often away with the House business," she chuckled as she looked deep into her husband's eye. "Promise me you won't leave me, Ed." Her eyes were almost pleading. Cedric frowned because he knew the answer was not an easy one.

Thalia chuckled again, "And I'm being selfish right now. I know it's been hard for you too. Sorry. Just...just remember that you still have a family here"

Cedric sighed heavily. Though there were little that he'd regretted, leaving his wife more often than he should, had left Cedric speechless for a moment. "If it's any consolation, I will probably kill myself first before I start whoring around. That much I can promise you, Thal." He managed to give a weak, dry smile and kissed his wife on the forehead. She smelled lavender and lilies, the scent he had grown to love along the years.

There was a long silence as the last bits of wood gave to the ember and turned to ash. The coldness of winter seeped back to the room. "We should get back to our room Ed. I don't want us to die freezing today," Thalia suggested. She mumbled, almost a whisper, but Cedric heard it clear as a day, "By the Gods I hope we're doing the right thing for this house."

Cedric wondered that also, but one thing he knew for sure was that he's playing a dangerous game. The one where even the victors are afraid of winning.

* * *

Postscript : As always, thanks for reading and sorry if there's any grammatical mistakes (I'm looking at you grammar nazis out there!). Critique and suggestions are always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2 - Eddard Stark

A/N : Here we are again back for the second chapter. I'll admit I've overdone this chapter by a lot. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy the continuation!

* * *

Chapter 2

Eddard Stark

The night was cold. It pierced his thick woolen cloak, and gave him a terrible shiver. Thin puff of vapour came out of his mouth. Eddard Stark had no choice but to hug himself while cursing at the winter. Fleeting snow fell through his sight and blurred it. He can imagine his dark oily hair turning white dye from the falling snow. A small feel of gratitude to the Gods because no high wind picked up. If that happened, Eddard was certain that he would die.

It was the third day of his trek to the Fingers across the Mountains of Moon. Initially, he had planned the route meticulously with great precision, but seeing the condition he was facing now, he'd began to doubt that claim. He had one full day to plan it in the Vale, but it seemed it was not enough. He knew he must act quickly to travel homeward after Robert Baratheon declared a rebellion. He had sent a number of ravens to the lords of the North to rally and be prepared. Ned hoped they would act quickly.

Still, the passing of his brother and father engraved a fresh wound in Ned's heart silently. He hadn't finished mourning before Robert asked him to make way North. Ned still couldn't believe the reality that his father and brother were dead. They were killed by the tyrant King Aerys II. People called him "The Mad King" now. Ned swore that one day he would bring justice to King Aerys, for the sake of his father, brother, and his own sanity.

A squire by the name Michel Torque was to be Ned's companion along the way. Michel had long been a close friend to him in the Eyrie. At first, Ned refused to have anyone help him. He felt this was his burden alone and sharing it would mean potentially harming those who were close to him. After a lengthy talk and sweetened by wine, Robert persuaded him to take Michel. Ned knew then that it would be vain to argue with a strong-willed man like Robert, and only then did he say yes.

Throughout the journey, he didn't expect the biggest obstacle would be Mother Nature itself. Eddard Stark had prepared for bandits, wildmen, and hungry wolves, as he had thought so. He carried enough armament and wore enough armor to go to a battle with Rhaegar Targaryen himself. A fool's choice of course, and he regretted it. The blistering and piercing wind forced him to ditch his iron armor and greatsword with his light leather cloak and a short sword on the first day. A shame, because the armor and the sword were a fine gift from Lord Jon Arryn and Ed hadn't got a chance to test it out.

Dark and menacing trees covered the distance as far as his eyes could see. A distant howling of the wolves made his nerves uneasy. A crack was all it took to make Eddard jump. It would be embarrassing for Robert to see him like this. Each step he took, sank him further into the field of snow. Each breath hurt his lungs and throat. The sharp cold of the mountain stabbed each part of his body. Even his ears, nose, fingers and feet felt numb; Eddard could barely feel the flowing blood through his limbs. Eddard felt the unforgiving mountain stripped him naked and shamed him. It reminded him the futility of fighting nature wrapped in all its beauty.

The red eye sun slowly made way toward its resting place. A brilliant hue of orange, red, and violet painted the sky like strokes of paint on a canvas. Ned stood there, he was awestruck by the illustrious scene. He had never seen it so close before. It felt strangely personal to him. _I wish father, Brandon, Benjen, and Lyanna were here. They would love this. They have far more appreciation for nature than I do. _

"We should camp here for the night, milord," Michel Torque suggested. Ned Stark was snapped out of his hypnotic gaze toward the distance. Michel continued, "It is under the cover of the forest. Smoke will not leave its roof easily so our position will be concealed enough. It is also open enough for us to set a night watch in case of a bandit attack. The snow is not also too deep for us to make a hasty escape."

Ned nodded in agreement. Michel assessment was right. "You're right. Let us make camp here. And Michel, I have told you many times before, please just call me Ned. I think there's no need for the formalities here." Michel gave a nod and smile. Ned never felt out of place to befriend someone who is a lower status than him. He rationalized that it gave perspective so it could make him a better leader for his people one day.

They began to break down their equipment and set their camp. Ned set up his tent first and proceed to gather dry woods for fire. Michel made a small fire pit and broke out their food supply. Tonight's meal was going to be another serving of hard bread and dried beef. It was far from the gastronomy comfort of the Eyrie, but Ned could manage it. The blood of Starks of Winterfell, after all, flowed in his veins. One thing that was in synonymous to the Starks, other than winter, was hardened and they became Warden of the North because of it.

"_We are like the direwolves, Ned," his father said to him once. "We are the protectors of the people, we hold the last bastion in the North. A Stark's place was never behind any walls or behind the comfort of a castle. Our place is among the smallfolks to lead them. We endure because we can. We endure because we must. Remember that, Ned." _

That was a long memory ago, back when Ned still lived in Winterfell with his family. Ned was a young lad then and full of mischief. There was no day without him and his brothers pranking the smallfolks. His father had often talked to him, giving him advice. The concept of honor and chivalry seemed strange and exotic to him back then. He was a different Ned Stark. Ten years with Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon changed him to the person he was, standing right now.

Night fell and the stars came out one by one. Each of those faltering light was giving the sky a whole new character. Ned remembered that he had once learnt to read the cryptic skies, courtesy of Maester Colemon. He recognized some of the patterns in the sky. Some of them were the Great Huntsman and the Maiden.

He and Robert often wandered and climbed the Maiden's Tower. They then sat on the edge of nothing, feeling the light mountain breeze on their face and took in the whole scene. Birds of the Vale often approached them and gave wonderful songs. A bottle of wine or two usually accompany them up there. Tonight it almost felt as innocent as it was then. Ned let out a deep sigh as the vapour escape his mouth.

"You haven't touched your food yet, milord." Michel pointed out while munching his bread. "Better eat up rather than die of cold. Or better yet, give me the food so that I have a better chance of survival."

Ned smiled and let out a chuckle, "If I die, who would lead the Northern Army? You?"

"May I be frank?" He asked with a grin.

"By all means."

"Well I don't complain having the title 'Marshall of the North'. In fact, it may suit better with my name. Michel Torque, the Marshall of the North." he said with a proud-mocking tone.

Ned laughed, "That will be the day when the Wall lay in ruins and the North are under the grasping hand of Ironbornes." Michel answered with the same enthusiastic laugh as Ned. Silence settled in again with his friend, the crackle of burning fire. A single lone hoot of an owl broke the quietness from time to time. Ned silently thanked the Gods, as he didn't hear any howl from wolves.

"I'll take the first watch then," Michel offered as he kicked some snow to douse the embers. It then hissed and exhaled steam from the ashes. "I'll wake you up in three hours milord. Don't overslept." Ned nodded whilst keeping his heavy eyes. A whole day trudging the terrain was unexpectedly more tiring than a day's worth of training. His feet and arms were sore.

Ned Stark took one last look to the skies. The stars had left the midnight show, leaving the sky an endless black expanse. Ned felt the irony of the moment. The mountain's name was Mountains of the Moon, but the Moon herself didn't show up in the sky. Maybe she was tired of the world, Ned guessed.

Michel had finally found a rather nice, comforting place to watch the camp. It was the boulder where he sat on top of it, beneath a large tree. Ned took a long gulp of the cold mountain air, and it felt refreshing inside. He then retreated to his own tent, grabbed his woolen cloak and used it as a blanket. The ground which he was laying onto strangely felt warm, not as cold as the snow. Finally he closed his eyes and emptied his mind.

_"Dad, where is Ned going?" An echo was heard from a distance. Ned instantly knew it was Benjen._

_Rickard Stark stood in the gates of Winterfell. His hair was still black and his complexion was much more youthful. Strangely, Rickard stood taller than him, even though Ned was slightly taller when he last saw his dad._

_"Ned is going to live with Uncle Jon from now on," A voice explained. It was his father._

_"Why?" Benjen innocently asked._

_His father sighed, "Because-"_

_"Because Ned needs to learn more to this world than just Winterfell." Another young, but mature spoken voice joined the conversation. Ned knew it was his older brother Brandon. He was always older and wiser than he looks. "Or maybe because we're just sick of him around," he joked._

_"Why?" Benjen asked again._

_"Now, now Ben. It's not nice to harass your brother and father." Another voice said, but this time it was from a woman. Ned knew he had heard this sweet and calming voice. It belonged to Ned's mother. _

_"But I want to know," Ben whined. He ran toward Ned and hugged him tightly. It certainly took him by surprise. "I don't want to part with Ned!" Tears flowed from his younger brother._

_Ned felt compelled to do or say something, but his tongue was tied and his throat was swollen up._

_"Ben," Brandon called. "We've talked about this. You know why Ned needs to go with Uncle Jon. You promised yesterday that you wouldn't cry."_

_"No!" Ben replied. "I-I take back that promise. If Ned go, then I want to go too!"_

_"Ben," his father raised his voice. That got Benjen to stop crying. "I know it is hard to let go... but you must try." _

_Rickard then moved his gaze toward the speechless Ned. He walked and kneeled in front of Ned. His grey eyes seemed stormy and colder than usual. His hand grabbed Ned's shoulder._

_"My son. My little Ned. Look how you've grown up now. It seemed like yesterday that you were running around the courtyard and climbing every tower. It seemed like yesterday." He sighed deeply the continued, "When a wolf leaves his den, it meant that he's on his way to become an adult. However, he is never truly alone in the wild. His pack will still always be in here." Rickard pointed toward Ned's heart. "Don't you forget that Ned. Even though you're far away in the Eyrie, that doesn't mean you can forget your family. You still carry the name Stark." _

_Words once again had failed to come out of Ned. Tears however were running smoothly through his cheeks. It would be shameful for a Stark to shed a tear, much more cry, but this time, Ned felt proud of crying. His father had hugged him. It felt like the warmest and the most comfortable hug that he received. One by one each member of his family gave him a hug. _

_His mother shed a tear also when she hugged him. It seemed like an eternity before his mother finally let him go. Ned didn't want it to end. "Gosh, you're just like your father when he was little." She kissed him on the forehead and smiled. "Be a good boy, Ned. Moreover, be a good man. You have that in you."_

_Brandon gave a brief but memorable hug. He punched Ned in the shoulder affectionately. "Don't you forget us, Ned, or I will personally come over there and remind you myself." he said with a wry smile before letting go._

_His sister came next. Lyanna's eyes were puffy and reddened with tears. Out of all the other family member, Lyanna was the closest to Ned. They were often seen playing and making mischieves together. "Write to us often okay, Ned. Promise me that," she said almost pleadingly. Ned gave a nod of approval. She hugged him once more._

_The last one to say goodbye was Benjen. His hug was more of a strangle than a real one. He was the hardest to let go, figuratively and practically. "Don't go Ned. There are still a lot of things we haven't done together," Those grey eyes pleaded deepfully. "I want to ride my first horse with you. I want to shoot my first arrow with you. I want to swing my first sword, hunt my first game, and fletch my first arrow with you!" He broke down crying again. He kept saying the word, "Don't go, don't go, don't go" over and over again while burying his face on Ned's hug. It wasn't until his mother pulled Ben away, that he'd let go._

_"The horses are ready for the journey, my liege." said a new echo was heard. Ned didn't recognize it at first, but then he remembered Ser Rodrik Cassel. "We have packed enough supply for the journey. I shall accompany the young lord to his destination."_

_"You did well Rodrik, more than I could ever ask of you," Rickard said. "Keep my dear boy, would you?" Rodrik nodded._

_Rickard looked to Ned again. "Well then, it's time you depart my son. Safe travels and may the Gods watch over you." Ned hugged them once again. It almost felt real._

"Ned, it's your turn." Ned woke up groggily from his half-dream state. "Ned?" He blinked a few times before his consciousness came back to him. He croaked and stretched his stiff limbs and neck, letting out a crack of satisfaction. Michel was standing on the mouth of his tent.

"Is it my turn?" Ned asked.

"Yes."

"No disturbance?"

"There were noises and light dancing high from the mountains," Michel answered. "Probably some mountain clan tribes reveling under the moonlight." _Ah so the Moon finally has showed her beautiful face. _

"Alright Michel, you've earned your rest," Ned said.

"Milord." He bowed then went to his tent. Ned crawled out of his tent. He was then greeted and kissed by the light snowfalls in his cheeks, turning it red and numb. His body responded with a shiver.

Ned took his sword and cloak and proceeded to sit in the same spot where Michel had been watching. He sat down and leaned towards the tree. The sword gleamed silver beneath the Moon's glow. Ned pulled a leather strop from his cloak. He kept it with him all the time for honing steel.

Slowly he worked his sword with the leather strop. The moonlight gave a fine view of his crafting. His mind drifted to a much different past.

"_Spine first. Good. Now do it again." Jon Arryn said. "Now when you reached the top, pull it to the bottom, spine first again. Good. Don't put too much pressure there." Jon reached down, grabbed the sword and the leather strop. "Here, watch me do it." Jon Arryn swiftly hone the steel edge of the sword. It was almost as elegant as a dancer under the moon, Ned thought. _

"_The sword is like a maiden, Ned. You must touch her gracefully and with feeling. Put too much pressure in it, and it will break." He stroke the sword along the leather with much affection. "Put too little love in it, and it will rust." He gave the sword and leather back to Ned while ruffling his hair. "Work on that, Ned. One day you'll understand." _ He did understand what Jon had said to him that day, albeit much later.

The last Ned had seen of Jon was when he and Robert marched on Gulltown, the seat of House Grafton. They left around the same time Ned left to the North. The Graftons refused to answer Lord Jon Arryn's call to arms and decided to stand loyal to the Iron Throne. The port city was of great importance for the survival of the rebellion. Without other port in the Eyrie, no supply or help can come to aid. Robert also wager they need to have a show of power, to "give those bastards at King's Landing a taste of Robert's fury".

Ned settled in for a long night. The nocturnal sounds of the woods fell deaf and quiet. Only the pale face of the Moon and the low clings of his sword that accompanied him. Laughing and screaming can sometimes be heard. It bounced from peak to peak on the mountain range. Dots of light can also be seen to shimmer briefly on the horizon.

A ruffle made Ned's ear perk up. He scanned the dark forest. Nothing seemed to be moving. Maybe it was just in his mind he assured himself. The sound of a twig snapping made Ned forget about that logic. He quietly readied himself for combat. He stood up and raised his newly sharpened sword. Again, the sword glimmered beneath the Moon, giving it an ethereal glow.

By this time, Ned was sure that something or someone was out there. A low, bestial growl came from just beneath the shadow of the forest canopy. His heart raced with fear and anxiety. His eyes darted carefully, trying to discern what shape does this phantom assailant have.

Two yellow and hungry-looking eyes met Ned's own frightened one. It was a quick contact, but that was all it took for him to know who is the prey and how is the hunter. It dashed around quickly. Ned knew it was a wolf. He knew that it was stalking him, probably for late-dinner. A thought of waking up Michel passed through Ned's mind. He needed help of course as taking down a wolf is no easy task. However, he shoved that thought deep in room for his ego. Ned felt that he could do this alone. He had to do this alone.

The wolf circled around him once more. Its stride was almost in a mocking manner. Ned followed its path, always bringing his sword between him and it. The wolf dashed forward, attempting to test Ned's defence. Ned staggered back and evaded the attack poorly. He felt like he was back to being a boy who couldn't even hold a sword properly. His breath became more and more laboured, stinging his lungs with the ice air. Every lesson he had learned in swordfighting seemed to disappear beneath panic. Ned shook his head as he tried to concentrate again.

The wolf tried to attack again, this time it was lunging for Ned's neck. Ned held up his arms to block it. It was a mistake, because the wolf bit Ned's arm instead. The wolf's bite force was overwhelming. A searing pain coursed through Ned's body as red hot blood began to gush from the wound. Ned screamed in pain. He quickly raised his sword and pummeled it to the wolf, slashing a deep wound to it. The wolf let go of its grip. It whimpered and ran back toward the woods. Ned instinctively covered his wounds with his hands

"Milord!" Michel came running out of his tent. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Ned's mind was still numb with pain. He barely can construct a full sentence. "Wolf. Attacked. My arm." A dark red patch was visible on where his long sleeve was.

"We need to clean the wound before I can dress it. We wouldn't want you to get the Jitters, now would we?" Michel said. "Wait here while I fetch some water." He went back toward his tent. He shouted an expletive before coming back out. Strangely, in his hands were the canteen that was filled with strong ale from the Eyrie. "We have no water, but I heard from the maester that strong mead work just as well."

Ned nodded, "Just get it over with."

Michel poured the ale and immediately Ned felt the pain increased tenfold. He grunted, "Give me that." Ned grabbed the canteen and drank down a mouthful of ale. It helped lessen the pain a little. Ned gave back the canteen to Michel. He poured again till the wound was almost clean.

"Okay, we need to dress the wound now," Michel explained. "Hold still. This might hurt a bit." He teared out a piece of cloth and wrapped it around the bite area. "That should do it."

Ned felt his heart rate dropping and his breath came back to normal levels. Panic began to subside within him. He let out a sigh of relieve. His hand was still numb however.

"You should get some rest, Milord." Michel suggested. "The wound will heal quickly if you sleep. I'll watch the remainder of the night. We'll go in the first light. That wound needs a maester to care for it."

"Thank you Michel," Ned managed to say. Ned rose up and walked toward his tent for the second time tonight. He lied down on the floor and end up staring into the top of his tent

The morning came quicker than he had expected. The first rays of light broke through the shielded forest rooftop. Ned couldn't sleep. It seemed that old memories had other plans with him. It came back and haunted Ned all through the night. The pain in his arms also didn't help with the situation. He checked the makeshift bandage and saw it was red rose in color. The good news was that Ned didn't felt any fever, just a sore throbbing pain in his arm.

"Milord," Michel asked from outside. "Are you awake yet? We need to get going."

"A moment." Ned answered. He crawled out, heaving under his uninjured arm. The sky was deep violet and empty. The snow had stopped falling from the previous night, but it has done its job. It has successfully covered every surface with a thin white film. Somehow Ned missed those light kiss of cold in his cheeks.

The campsite was already barren, save Ned's own tent. Michel did an exceptional job of cleaning any trace of them here. The site, where the small stone pit were alight last night, was now nothing more than a heap of snow. He knew the dangers of being trailed by the mountain clans. If that was the case, the best case scenario would be to die, the worst case scenario was to get captured. Those mountain clans would break any victim in a way that no spirit was left to break.

Michel began to pack Ned's tent.

"Let me do it," Ned said.

"You're injured milord," he answered. "Let me help you." He turned his back and worked on the tent again.

"Let me do it," Ned said once again. This time a hint of insistence showed in his voice. "I maybe injured, but it is still my tent."

"As you wish milord." Michel stepped back and waited for Ned.

Ned began to dismantle the tent with his good hand. He found it surprisingly easier than imagined. Not long after, the tent was rolled and packed into Ned's gear. He heaved the bag behind him and began the long trek for the day.

"You need to break fast milord," Michel said. "A loaf of bread is enough for a day's journey." He handed Ned a chunk of hard bread.

"Thank you," Ned replied as he began to chew the bread. His mouth watered in hunger, like expecting a sweet treat, but what it got was bland and stale from too much time in the cold.

"A blood trail." Michel pointed out. He knelt down and touched the red snow. "It's thick, almost flaky, but not covered in snow. Maybe it was from around the third watch last night," he deduced. "A wolf's footprint in the snow followed the blood."

Michel walked forward, tracking the blood trail. Ned followed closely behind. The blood trailed scarcely at first, but then it became more frequent. Not before long, it went off from their planned route. The ground slowly decline downwards. The trail lead them into a small grove and ended beneath a large snow crusted tree. The early morning light betrayed no features but only the shadow of the tree.

Beneath the tree, Ned could see a faint outline of a wolf. He hesitated at first, fearing it was a sleeping one not a dead one. A pool of blood around the body confirmed the latter. It curled up, almost like a sacrifice to the tree. The wolf had a large wound in its body. Ned can only guess that this was the wolf that attacked him.

Moving closer to the tree, he could see details that were mystery to him before. The tree has an almost snow white complexity and shades of red glimmer in its leaves. A number of black voids were carved out of its trunk, resembling a screaming face. Ned recognized this tree at an instant. It was a weirwood. No, not just any weirwood, this is a heart tree.

How could a heart tree be here, this far in the south? Weren't they all have been cut down by the Andals? The questions swam in Ned's mind.

"A weirwood," Michel gasped. "How did this get here? They're supposed to be extinct right?"

"No, not extinct," Ned explained. "Beyond the Wall it still grows plenty. I had a grove of it once in Winterfell. That place always scared me as a child. The faces seemed like they are always staring and judging you, making you feel uneasy of every action there and helpless." He paused to think. "But I didn't think to find one here, in the Vale. They said that weirwoods were everywhere. Then the Andals came and cut them all down every place they conquered. They didn't conquer the North though, that's why the weirwoods still survive there. Maybe fate brought us here or maybe it's just pure luck."

"This however, is a heart tree," Ned explained. "The Old Gods work their power through these trees." Ned touched the trunk, feeling the greaves of the surface. It felt ancient and full of power. Strangely, the numb pain in his arms subsided a little.

Ned wondered what this tree had witnessed in its lifetime. The coming of First Men? The landing of Andals? or the conquest of Targaryens? His thought then drifted to his dead father and brother. It still left a hole in his heart. He wondered if they're now with the Gods.

Ned felt compelled to kneel and began to pray to the Old Gods. There was no text, no prayer, and no guideline for praying in the religion. The prayers were almost like an intimate moment with the Gods. Ned chose to talk to his father and brother this time.

Quietly he whispered to the tree. "Father, Bran. It's been awhile hasn't it? I have missed you both so dearly." He paused for a moment as tears began to swell in his eyes. _No, I shall not cry_. _Stark men don't cry._ "Sometimes I wish that we were back in Winterfell, together as family, before you sent me to the Eyrie. Well I hope that the Gods are treating you kind now. Robert and Jon also sent their regards to you." The heart wood stayed silent and stood sturdily, however. No answer came out of it. Ned felt a little bit foolish for talking to a tree, moreover for hoping that it would answer him.

Ned stood up and touched the tree once more. Michel had been out of his way, staying silent in the background, waiting for him to finish.

"Are you done, milord?" Michel asked. "We should get going, the nearest settlement is still a long way ahead and you need someone to treat that wound properly."

"Alright, I'll follow you." As Ned began to part off, he turned his head and took one last look on the grove before it disappeared into the horizon. He vowed to himself to keep the location a secret.

By this time, the sun was already high in the sky. It reigned and shone brightly. The cold was now more tolerable than before as Ned and Michel trudged on the tepid landscape. They both stayed silent however. Only the sound of their feet crushing the snow that permeated in the air.

Not before long, the forest receded gradually. The ground kept sloping downwards and the snow were only white patches in the ground. The whole scenery seemed like a mismatched painting colored by a blind man. Finally, they were out of the woods and into a green hillside. Out on the distance, the roaring waves of The Bite clashed with the land.

"Where are you going after this, Michel?" Ned asked, finally had enough of the silence.

Michel gave it a few minutes of thought before answering. "I planned to return to be leige lord in Gulltown. The last I'd seen him, he was leading his host to besiege Gulltown. I don't know how that battle turned out, but I will go to Gulltown nonetheless. How about you?" He asked back.

"The first place I'll probably go is to Sisterton or Ambervale. I have allies there. Then I'll find a boat that will take me to White Harbour. From there I'll make my way to Winterfell where I'll raise my bannerman." Ned answered swiftly, as if everything has already been calculated in his head. "Hopefully I will be back in time to help Robert."

They went downhill, into a fisherman's village sitting on the coast. Ned pulled up his hood and stayed out of town to avoid any unwanted attention. Michel went in and secured transportation for him. The wait was longer than Ned had anticipated. The sun began to sink down to its resting place. Eventually Michel came back with report that a fisherman was ready to transport him to Ambervale. Michel explained that there were some strange disappearances of ships in The Bite, which made the fishermans afraid to the point of speculating the existence of Kraken. Michel found only one man willing to transport Ned. At first he was unwilling, but the gold coin greased the negotiation quite nicely. However, he had just one catch. He would not go to Sisterton because he believed the waters there were cursed. Instead, he offered to take to Ambervale which lies to the North East. He knew the route to get there safely, even in the cover of darkness.

Ned was slightly disappointed, because it would have been closer to White Harbour if the destination was Sisterton. That would mean he can get to Winterfell and raise his bannerman quicker. He could be on Robert's and Jon's side faster.

"The fisherman will be leaving soon. He'll meet us on the shore," Michel explained. "He has given his assurance that he will ask no questions. Let's go milord."

Ned and Michel met the fisherman on the shore. He was an old man with weather weary features. His hair was as white as snow on the mountain. Ned questioned his ability quietly. Behind him, The Bite was roaring with fury, slamming the shore and receding rapidly. It would have been a folly for Ned to die in the Sea. The man introduced himself as Gared and said no more.

Michel then said a few parting words to Ned. He would be doing a long trek to Gulltown.

"Thank you my friend," Ned said while shaking his hands. "I'll hope we meet again. Preferably in the battlefield as a friend."

"Likewise milord. Take care." He bowed his head and set off into the horizon.

Gared lead Ned to a secluded lagoon where his boat was moored safely. They both went aboard and set off to the sea. As the sun was rapidly descending into the boundary of the world, it left a grey and dull sky. The waves were in rhythm with the slow, yet steady rowing of the boat. It filled the silent atmosphere of the sea.

As he stared the opaque sky, Ned began to contemplate his next move. "_You worry too much about the future Ned," _Robert used to say to him. "He was right," he whispered to himself. Ned Stark realized the more he thought about what he should do, the more worried he became. He knew himself as a man who was easily worried a lot of things. As for now, he was worried about the sea, and its capability to threaten the boat at any second.

* * *

Postscript : As always, thanks for reading and sorry if there's any grammatical mistakes. Critique and suggestions are always welcome! Oh yeah, can anyone guess who'll be the next POV? (hint : it's not Robert)


	3. Chapter 3 - Elia Martell

A/N : Alrighty, I don't know why I did this chapter in the first place. Maybe it's because that the Martell girls haven't got a lot of spotlight in the books. Well today I hope to do the Martell justice by doing this chapter. Hope you all enjoy it!

* * *

Chapter 3

Elia Martell

The red rooftops of King's Landing gleamed under the basking afternoon sun. The air was humid and filled with scent of summer wine. Beneath it lied a lively city, teeming with clangs of steel, barters of merchants, and shouts from kids which filled the air with life. Elia Martell sat on the solar of her room in the Red Keep, far from discord down below. A gentle gust of wind caress her fair skin. Long black hair flowed from her head, nearly touching her hips. Her black eyes examined the city and its surrounding wall. There she saw all of the people walking through the street, busy with their own activities and their rather meek lives. They seemed, to her, to be so obscure and irrelevant, very small like tiny ants marching across their colony.

Elia Martell didn't feel powerful in that position. She felt trapped and engulfed with sadness. It had been a longing of hers to walk down the streets of King's Landing, just like a commoner. An inexplicable desire, in which she had been dreaming for so long to the point only she could understand herself. A free will, to walk and touch the King's Landing. As just every time she attempted to explore the nooks and crannies of the city, there was always a score of Gold Cloaks following her from behind. Even one of the King's Guard often accompanied her when she was away from the Keep. She'd blame her father-in-law, the Targaryen King Aerys II. There was never any love nor bonds between them. She had loved her son, her husband, but not the father.

Despite her great desire, Martell was not a native to the city. She was, however, from the City of Sunspear from the land of Dorne, often referred by its neighbour as the City of Jewel. It was also known as the land with unforgiving Mother Nature, much harsher than here in King's Landing. The sun was equally more merciless and relentless in its daily appearance. Sandstorms and high winds were commonplace in the far South. The deserts of Dorne were also home to the hordes of various species, devoting their lives to slay people. Originally, Martell though life at King's Landing would be more dignified than that in Sunspear. The mere thought of living with a prince in the capital initially excited her. It was just a matter of years her perspective of the city had changed.

King's Landing's main threat was not the climate or the wildlife, however, it was the spirit that symbolized it. The spirit of fulfillment and hope. Those two words were dangerous enough alone, but together they brought disastrous chaos to whoever lured into it. Each and everyone has their own agenda and each and everyone tried to fulfill it. Many passed on because their agenda clashed with another. The realization that King's Landing was the most foul and iniquitous city in Westeros came later rather than sooner for Elia. However, she is not a person who dwelled on the past. She would change and adapt, just like any Martell would have.

Out of all the things she had missed from Dorne, it was her family that often kept her mind busy with nostalgia. She missed those times with her brothers, especially Oberyn. He always had a way to keep her smiling, whether it was by riding across the desert together, telling far-fetched bawdy stories, or just simple talk under the Dornish moonlight. She felt that she could tell her brother everything, and he likewise. She often sent letters home weekly. Mostly for Oberyn, but she also often wrote to her father. Each week she also got the replies.

She looked at the letter she received from Oberyn. A raven brought it yesterday and she hadn't written a reply yet.

_To my dearest sister, Elia,_

_It has been exactly ten moons, eleven suns, and seventeen duels with Doran (to which I won most of them), since I have sent you a letter. Sorry for the delay. _

_Nothing much has happened here in Sunspear. Doran did his job daily with ruling over the city. I think he's growing into the part. Somehow he seemed wiser and older. Grey streaks came to his hair. Oh there's also something about Father, he has suddenly taken a liking in gardening. Only the Others know what he's thinking these days, but at least our garden is now a bit more colorful. He planted these beautiful purple flowers that a Lyseni merchant brought in. It gave off a sweet summer scent of a well groomed courtesan. Doran didn't like those. I suppose he didn't like much things these days. Not even his wife. Sad to say that they have grown further and further apart._

_My little children are growing up nicely since last you've come here. Obara had taken a liking in all things I like. Spears, wines, horses, and be a general nuisance in the palace. Nymeria is growing to be like her mother, sensuous and have a predilection with daggers. Yesterday I found Tyene praying in a Sept, which surprised me, because even I haven't been to that dusty place in years._

_Anyways, I heard there was trouble brewing up there. A little swallow told me that your husband has been… unfaithful, to say the least. Is it true that he kidnapped that northern girl and then the King decided to slaughter the head of Starks and his heir after they protested? And now there are whispers of a rebellion? Things are sure more spicy in King's Landing than here Sunspear. And more dangerous too. I hope you're treading carefully wherever you go, sister. One wrong move will result the same like stepping a desert snake._

_That covers all from Sunspear I guess. I hope you'll write back soon. Father and Doran are also eager to hear from you._

_From your dreary brother,_

_Oberyn_

Elia put down the paper for the third time today. A couple of blank pieces and crumpled parchments scattered on the small table beside her. She had been trying to write her reply all morning, but no proper and seemly words had came into Elia's mind. Each of her written words seemed wrong, supposedly lacking or missing something. Perhaps there was too many to say in a such little space. The view of King's Landing from the window didn't help either.

She let out a long sigh and closed her eyes for a moment. Her arms and leg ached with fatigue. She dreamt of the time she bore her children. She was so fragile and sickly. Especially when she was pregnant with Rhaenys and Aegon, she was bedridden for most of the time. The maester even was doubtful of her survival then, but she did. _Dragon's blood runs through your vein,_ her father used to say.

Her mind drifted to the time the Tourney was held at Harrenhal. Rhaegar Targaryen, her husband, Prince of Dragonstone, won the tourney by unhorsing Ser Barristan the Bold. He rode the courtyard with his white horse, cloaked in roaring of the crowds, as if it was his destiny to win that day. He had the privilege to crown the Queen of Beauty and Love. Elia was certain of her crowning by her husband, but then she met his eyes. Those purple eyes told her all she had to know. He was crowning another woman. She was Lyanna Stark. The laughter originating from the crowd ceased abruptly, leaving only the clattering hooves of Rhaegar's horse as it galloped away. It was a year ago.

The door to her room creaked open, followed by hesitant footsteps. Elia opened her eyes and turned to see a woman stood standing on the doorway. The woman wore a long summer dress with a blue scarf. It complemented her chestnut skin and cranberry lips. She was Elia's handmaiden and coincidentally her old friend, Jayne Ladybright.

"My lady," she greeted, with an unexpected anxious voice. "Prince Rhaegar has returned. He requested your company at the gardens."

"The prince has returned?"

"Yes, my lady."

"I...I'll be down in a few moments. Tell him I'll be down shortly."

Elia stood up from her chair and washed her face with the water basin beside her bed. The cool water splashing her face seemed to 'wake' her up. Then she made way down through the winding stairs of the tower.

Walking downstairs, Elia's mind slowly faded into the box of its own thought. Her husband had been gone for almost a month. A diplomatic envoy to the Tyrells he had said to her. Then the rumours about the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark by her husband rang in her mind. Elia was spontaneously shocked the time she heard the news. She couldn't believe it and didn't want to believe. How could it happen? She didn't want her marriage plagued with distrust and doubt. On the other side, her mind was distraught by the arrival of the Starks, demanding an audience with the king. The hope for the rumours proved to be false slowly grew dim in Elia's mind. It was that day she woke up with the same question that had been nagging inside her. _Could Rhaegar do that to her? _She was going to find the answer today.

The garden was one of Elia's favorite place to exist in the castle. Elia loved to walk around the blooming flowers and wisp trees. However, it was the smell that made Elia fell in love. The mixture of warm summer air, flowery nectars, and pollen, enticed Elia personally. It reminded her a bit of Sunspear.

A man stood, leaning onto the marble railing of the garden while looking far away over the sea. His long white hair gently swayed by the breeze. His shoulders slouched and his head was lowered. He was wearing formal clothing, embroidered with dragon heads.

Elia knew the man well. It was Rhaegar. She walked slowly and hugged him from behind. Her arms locking in place. Rhaegar responded by holding and kissing her hand softly. Elia felt it wasn't a loving kiss, but rather a goodbye one. A sinking feeling settled on her stomach as she pulled away from her husband. _Was he still the man she knew? The man she loved?_

"How was Highgarden?" Elia asked, searching for his face.

"It was fine," he answered crassly. "Lord Mace Tyrell graced us with his red Arbor wine as always. In his drunken stupor he proposed a betrothal between our families. Clearly that man has no shame at all."

He managed to let out a chuckle, "How about you? How's King's Landing treating you?"

Elia paused. She wanted to confront him about the rumours. About him and his alleged kidnapping of that northern woman.

"Rhaegar." He finally turned his head to her. Their eyes met for a brief moment. His eyes were as purple as ever, with a touch of melancholy. Elia was taken aback by the fiery gaze. She stuttered, "I...there's been…"

"There has been what?"

In a moment of panic, Elia's throat seized up. She let out a wordless whimper.

Rhaegar laughed and his eyes shone with charm for a moment. "The last time I heard that was at the night of our wedding. I remember you were surprised when you saw what will take you."

Elia took a deep breath and regained her composure. She felt oddly angry at Rhaegar. "There has been news about you, Rhaegar. About you and Lyanna Stark. People all over are talking about it, even here in King's Landing the rumours are spoken by stable boys to whore houses in Mud Gate." She stare at him accusingly. "Is it true? Did you really do it Rhaegar?"

Rhaegar raised his eyebrows and frowned. His eyes turned stormy like the Shivering Seas. He lowered his head and it sunk in beneath his broad shoulders. He averted his gaze back toward Blackwater Bay. "I…" He paused, as if weighing optioned. "know nothing what you just said."

Two years living with a person could give away much of their body language. Elia knew that Rhaegar was lying. She knew that he was deceiving her, but she wanted him to say it truly. She needed him to spare that mercy at least.

"Look at me Rhaegar," she asked him. He stood there unwavered. Elia asked again, "Please look at me." Her voice almost broke. She put her hand on his cheek and turned his head. He resisted at first, but finally relinquished his control. His eyes told Elia many things, but regret was not one of them.

"Did you do it Rhaegar? Please answer me truthfully," Elia pleaded.

"Why do you care, Elia? It's none of your business. What I have done...had done, is my own business," he said heavily.

Something inside Elia snapped. It was a primal spirit. Elia scowled at him, "Because I am your wife, Rhaegar. Or did you forget that when you took that northern girl? When you kidnapped her, did you forget that you had a woman waiting for you at home, worrying when he will come back. If he comes back at all."

Anger filled each words she said. Her eyes glared directly to Rhaegar's. She made sure he felt the sting of a Dornish woman. "Do you know how much it hurts me, Rhaegar? When you chose that girl rather than me? Last year when you crowned her at Harrenhal, I almost convinced myself to run back to Dorne, until you consoled me and said that you crowned her because of diplomatic reasons with the Starks. I believed you! And you did this to me again? How can I look at you and love you anymore Rhaegar? Tell me how."

Elia's leg gave up as she dropped to the ground and cried. All those pent-up emotions came out of her in a flash. "I trusted you, Rhaegar. I trusted you from the very moment you made that vow. What did I do wrong to deserve this? Am I not enough for you? Am I that flawed compared to that northern girl?"

Rhaegar stood there in silence and placid. No words came out of his mouth. He knelt beside his wife and gave her a hug. His voice whispered slowly to her ear, "You did nothing wrong my wife. It is I who had done wrong to you. I...I have no excuses for what I've done." Elia pushed him away. She couldn't believe him anymore. It was more sickening than when she found out that Rhaegar had been unfaithful.

"I have to go, Elia," Rhaegar said. "I have to find the instigator of the rebellion and help them see reason. I had hope you bless me before I go." It was a strange habit of Rhaegar. He usually asked his wife for blessing before any engagement. Elia remembered that he asked for her blessing at Harrenhal. He paid her back with a heartbreak.

"Go," Elia said with a broken voice. "Just go away." She didn't see what Rhaegar's expression was, but she heard his footsteps walking away.

Elia sat there for a while. She began to regain her poise as a noblewoman. A wife of the crown prince no less. She shouldn't be like this. Elia remembered a parting gift from her mother on the day of her betrothal. _A noblewoman can be a lot of things, but she can never be undignified, Elia. They must be strong when they are at their weakest and they must smile even though their soul felt like shattering._ Yes, she must be like a noblewoman. She is Elia Martell of Sunspear after all. Her family honor rests on her hands also. Both hers and her husbands.

"I couldn't help but overhear your crying, my lady," a disembodied male voice called from behind the hedges. Elia jumped from her position and stood up startled. A bald, plump man revealed himself from the shadow. "Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean to startle you."

It was Varys, the King's Spymaster. Elia haven't known him long or well enough. She remembered that he came to King's Landing from Essos around the time she was to be wed with Rhaegar. His first appearance striked Elia as eccentric. From the clothes that he wore, which was always satin or silk of highest quality and stark color, and from the way that he twist his mouth to a smile, had always tick something off in Elia. She knew however, behind all that extravagant appearance, lies a dangerous mind with more secrets than the Alchemists' Guild. He wouldn't be Master of Whisper to the Red Keep if it wasn't for that.

"Lord Varys," Elia greeted. "I didn't take you for a man who appreciate gardens and flowers."

"On the contrary, my lady, I have grown fond of gardens here in King's Landing. The gardener kept such a good ambience going. It helps me think sometimes."

He knelt and picked up a red rose from the bushes and sighed, "We don't have these kind of flower in Pentos. It's beautiful with it's red crimson crown, but it is also dangerous." He showed his hand, which was flowing with fresh hot blood. The thorns must've pricked him Elia thought. Varys held out the rose to Elia. She reluctantly picked it up.

"War is in the horizon my lady. It is lead by Lord Jon Arryn, Robert Baratheon, and Eddard Stark," Varys said. "It saddens me. I have worked hard these past years to uphold peace and stability. In the end it was in vain. What am I but a pawn to the king? I have told him the consequences of murdering the Starks. Madness overtook him when he carried out that order. Now he asks me to find allies. I fear that our king's cause will not attract many sympathies."

Elia frowned. She knew where this is going. "I'm afraid I cannot help you with that Lord Varys."

"Think about your children my lady," he said with the same grin. "If, say, the rebellion were to win, what would happen to them? Do you think they will be treated righteously? After all, they have Targaryen blood in them."

"No," she said defiantly, "They would still uphold our honor. I know the Arryns and Starks would not stoop that low-"

"And what about the Baratheon? Do you think there is little grudge inside that boy? His parents were killed because the orders from King Aerys. His betrothed was kidnapped by the crown prince. Your husband." He made sure that last two words were heeded by Elia. "It is true that you cannot help me, my lady, but you can help yourself and your children. Ask Dorne for help. They will listen to you, my lady. You are still their princess."

Varys quickly retreated back to the shadow. His steps were quiet and silent that Elia didn't fully notice he was gone. "Damn that man," she muttered under her breath. "Damn them all." Deep insider her, she knew that Varys was right. His logic and arguments were not flawed.

Elia walked back to her room in the upper tower. Jayne was waiting for her at the first step of stair. Her face spelt worry and concern.

"My lady, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Jayne."

Jayne stopped Elia in her tracks. "My lady, no offence, but you don't look fine."

"I said I'm fine Jayne," Elia insisted.

"Look, we have known each other since we were little, Elia. I know I can read that face of yours like a book."

"Jayne," Elia said as she put her arm on her shoulder. "You are my best friend. My only friend here, but I'm fine. I appreciate your concern, but it was not yours to begin with."

Jayne Ladybright frowned at Elia. "Well, if you insist, Elia. I'll be with the children then." Elia managed a weak smile to reply.

Elia's room was in the same condition as she left it. She went to the solar and sat on the same chair as this morning. She grabbed a parchment and her quill and began writing a letter to Dorne. She knew what to say to her brother. Elia Martell was going to warn her family back in Sunspear.

* * *

Postscript : There you go, made it here at last, at the part where you wait gruellingly(is that even a word?) again for the next chapter. Let's hope that I can keep up with the 2 weeks publish schedule. Anyways, thanks for reading and all critics are welcome.


	4. Chapter 4 - Robert Baratheon

A/N : Hello again beloved readers and followers. Sorry for the very long wait for this chapter. It has been a constant battle between school and procrastination. This chapter was done actually a few months ago, but I forgot to edit and polish it. Hope you enjoyed it!

* * *

Chapter 4

Robert Baratheon

The early morns were never meant to be a good time for Robert Baratheon to be up. He loathed at the first lights whilst witnessing the subsiding darkness beyond the horizon. More often than not, Robert himself wasted his dawn sleeping off his ale the night before.

Today, however, was unlike the previous days. Robert found himself wide awake inside his tent. Oddly enough, he wasn't sleeping at all last night. Baratheon neither refused to sleep nor found a pleasant position to sleep; his eyes refused to close and his muscles remained unrest.. Streams of adrenaline and hope rushed through his veins to his mind; Baratheon's soul was rather an entity filled with a glimmering hope and glory.

As he had planned that day for a fortnight with Jon Arryn and his bannermen, there was a lot of tension in that meeting. Most of the time, they never ceased to argue what the best approach for battle was. Robert, as he usually was, preferred to charge the problem head-on; it was his ambition to strike the enemy of that sheer size in one sweep. Only Lord Eon Hunter, seemingly out of his mind, agreed with Robert's plan.

As opposed to Robert, the other lords voted for war of attrition. They wanted to employ a tactic in which they sit around and starve the enemy to submission. A tactic, which might be effective if it weren't for the importance of Gulltown. But then Robert insisted that they had no naval support, thus explaining why it was crucial to take Gulltown as fast as possible.

Eventually, a strategy was devised at the thirteenth day. It was Lord Royce and Redfort behind the scheme. They proposed a solid plan to surround the city from two sides; one from the harbour and the other from the front. According to their calculations, the enemy wouldn't be able to escape, thus leaving the only option to surrender. It was then settled that Lord Arryn commanded the force towards the wall, while Lord Royce led the army through the harbour.

That thirteenth night was the quietest, at least for Robert. Nobody within the camp uttered a word as well as a whisper. He didn't hear any tales nor flute sounds; the tale-weaver and the flute player remained silent. Yet some of the lords left the camp without light. All he heard was only the gentle howl of the summer wind, accompanying the whistling reeds of the plain. The silent whisper of anxiety permeated over the camp.

That was why Robert couldn't sleep at all. He was excited. He was eager and enthusiastic. His heart raced as if it was the first time he rode a woman, eager to know what would happen next. Robert Baratheon assured himself that he would own this day, just as Rhaegar Targaryen who had owned the day in Tourney at Harrenhal. He was already dreaming himself riding with pride through the streets of Gulltown, with people calling and shouting his name.

"Lord Robert," a voice called outside his tent, distracting Robert's mind from his thoughts. His once fantasies and dreams suddenly vanished in a flash of light. A tall silhouette fell on the flap of Robert's tent, and stopped before moving any further. "Begging your pardon sir, but you have a visitor"

Robert stood up groggily, as he put on his clothes hastily with an adorned golden stag. Who in the Seven Hells would want to meet him this early? Even the sun hadn't manifested itself over its firmament.

* * *

Robert donned his clothes and cloak and went outside. The morning greeted him graciously. It wasn't cold nor hot, but perfectly balanced. A fleeting thought passed his mind that he could get use to waking up early. Then that thought passed and the thought otherwise. If he were to wake up early, he would have to sleep early too. But surely, a Baratheon sleeping early? That must be the day The Others learn how to fly and pass the Wall.

"He's over by the fire, my lord." The guard directed him toward a spot of fire in the middle of the camp. It shone alone amongst the dawning day. A hooded figure tended the flames unaccompanied. Robert walked closer to the fire, like a moth attracted to it.

"Who are you?" Robert asked. "It better bloody well be important to wake me up this early."

"Begging your pardon, milord." The figure pulled back his hood and it revealed the face of Michel. "I have come to tell you that Lord Eddard is now sailing across the Bite. He should arrive at Winterfell by the week's end."

Robert couldn't help but smiled a little. "That's good then. Let's just hope he will not be late for all the fun down here."

"He promised that he will rally his bannerman quickly and march to help you."

Robert sighed, "the Gods know we need them to fight those Targaryens. You'd better rest too. Today we're going to storm the castle."

Michel snickered, his eyes never wandered from the fire. "I was wondering when the fun going to begin here. I surely didn't come here just to sit around waiting for them Graftons to give up."

"You see that wall there?" Robert asked, pointing toward a raised wall just over the horizon. It barred the entrance to the castle they wished to take. "If you wanted action, then you got it. I'm aiming to be the first over that wall. I need someone to watch my back though. Someone who I can trust and can fight well. I need you Michel."

"Can I say no?" Michel said jokingly.

"No," Robert said as he sat up. "Please excuse me, Michel. I think Lord Arryn would want to hear this news." Michel replied with a nod.

* * *

Robert walked to the large tent in the middle of the camp, which was by account, coming to life. It was the tent where the lengthy discussion of strategy took place. A dozen of banner were pinned on its entrance, but they stood limp this morning.

Robert knew that is the place where Jon Arryn would be. Many nights ago, when he was just a little boy, the lord had told them a story of how he had a ritual just before an eve of battle. He would spend the night before in the meeting tent. 'To calm the nerves' he would say.

A dim light pierces the tent's entrance, signalling that someone was inside. Robert took a peek from the flaps to confirm who it was. However, he could only see a faint outline of a figure sitting in the dark corner of the tent. He finally went into the tent.

"Good to see you awake, Robert," the figure said hoarsely. "Anxious for today?"

"Good morning to you to Lord Arryn," Robert greeted. "And truth be told, I am quivering with fear and excitement inside."

Jon Arryn gave a grin. "Well my boy, it's good if you're fighting with a touch of fear. You'll be less likely to die stupid today."

"But if there's too much fear, where will you put the courage to fight in the first place?" Robert countered.

"Well, it seems that I have taught you well, Robert," Jon laughed. "It's a shame that your father isn't here to see you grown up. He would be proud of you."

Robert sighed. "Proud? I don't think that's what on his mind if he hears I'm rebelling against the Iron Throne. He was always loyal to the Targaryens. He died because of that. If anything he'd probably disown and banish me." There was a moment of silence. "By the Seven, what have we done."

Jon gripped Robert's shoulder assuringly. "You are not rebelling against the Targaryen, Robert. You are rebelling against a tyrant. What you're doing here, would have made your father proud. I'm sure of it. He is not loyal to the Targaryens. He is loyal to the realm and its people. And that's exactly what you're doing now." Robert nodded solemnly.

"Now," Jon continued. "Don't you doubt yourself, Robert. After all you'll be the one leading the vanguard. It's not wise for the soldiers to see their commander hesitate, especially in the eve of battle."

Robert looked at him with confusion. "I thought it was you who's going to lead the vanguard? You can't possibly give that honor to me."

"I can son. And I have done it," Jon said stoically, "I have spread the word earlier this morning. You'll be the one leading them to battle."

"But-"

"Do you remember what you promised when that raven arrived in Eyrie? The raven which carries the news of Lyanna, the Starks, and then demanded your heads?" Robert lowered his head. He did remember that day.

It was like any other morning in the Eyrie, which was monotonous to say the least. Robert had woken up late that day. He spent the night before with a lady on the towers. The late night fatigue hadn't left him when Maester Colemon came in and summoned him to Lord Arryn in his solar. Of course, Ned was already there. Robert remembered how Ned's eyes were more stormy than usual and a sense of dread permeated the room. Then Jon broke the news to him. The first reaction from Robert was he punched the table hard that it cracked. He was outraged by the letter. "Yes I do."

"What did you say?"

"I said I would kill every Targaryen and everyone that support them."

"Why?"

"Because they're cruel, unjust, and mad. They deserve to die." Hate begins to boil again in Robert's blood. He had forgotten it is still there.

"I need you to remember that today, Robert." Jon said." I need the man who would stand up against the world and the sky for what's right. I need the man who the soldiers can look up to. I need Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End. If you can't do that, then our cause is already lost."

Robert felt a wave of hesitation hit him. Questions of doubt and fear filled his mind. _Am I ready for this? Can I do it? Am I strong enough to carry the burden of command? What would my father do? He wouldn't run away from a fight would he?_

His thoughts then wander to the tales of his father in the War of Ninepenny Kings. How he shone in that war. A little part of Robert envied his father's endeavours. A little part of him wanted to be his father. Finally, Robert spoke up. "I will do what you asked of me, my lord."

"Good," Jon said, grabbing Robert's shoulders. A sense of pride beamed from the man. "You're the reason of this after all, might as well try and be the head of it. Who knows? Maybe you'll sit your arse on that Iron Throne when this is over."

"Permission to speak bluntly, my lord."

Jon Arryn raised his eyebrows in sarcasm. "Does that ever stop you before, Robert?"

A smile rises from Robert's lips, then turned into a full blown laughter. "Me? King? Seven hells, it would be much better for Eddard or you to sit there. You both are twice the man I am and I'll ever be. I just want Lyanna back. Besides, I don't think I want to spend the rest of my days sitting in an uncomfortable chair."

Robert laughed harder. Then he remembered why he came to find Jon in the first place. "I came here to tell you that Ned is now crossing the Bite. He should be able to join us in fortnight's time."

Jon Arryn's face grew grim. "That's too long. By that time the Targaryens would have marched their own army from King's Landing." He stopped to think again. "We need more men and fast. I'll arrange for your return to Storm's End after this battle. You can then call your bannerman. We can also hope for the Tullys. They still have a betrothal to fulfill."

" Well then, it seems that you have figured it all out, my lord. If you would excuse me milord," Robert said. "I have to go and prepare myself." Jon Arryn nodded and silence came over that tent again as before as Robert walked out.

* * *

Outside, the then dead camp was now bustling with activity. The sun has shown its face high in the sky. Towers of smoke rises from the campfires as knights, squires, and lords break their fast. The stench of stale bread and dried beef filled the air. Shouts of command and clangs of steel could be heard.

Robert's thought then drifted to something that he had long forgotten, his Gods. Robert's faith was of the Seven, but only by birth. He never went to a sept unless dragged by Lord Arryn. Even then it was only a place of no meaning for him. It is not that he didn't believe in the Gods, but he believed that they had abandoned him long ago, when they took his parents away from him.

It was that moment that he realized that he is in an awkward position. He, who never turned to the Gods for guidance, now is seeking it. Robert can only imagine what laugh the Gods are having wherever they are.

Nevertheless, he did say a prayer. It wasn't formal nor long, for he didn't remember any of the prayers. He started his prayer with an apology, for all the time he'd turned away from the Gods. He asked for their protection, so that he would not die stupidly in the battle. The last thing he prayed for was a safe journey for his friend, Ned.

As soon as Robert finished his prayer, he opened his war chest and took out his armor. It was the old armor that his father left for him before he went to Essos. Before he died. He said that the armor was passed down through generations. His father made him promise to wear it when he became a true man.

A stag running through golden field. The sigil was displayed proudly in the breastplate. The helmet was adorned with stag's antlers. The feeling of dread and awe radiate from the hollow eyes of the helmet. Each line of the eldest Baratheon had gaze the world from it.

Robert felt he deserved no less than that. He was going to wear proudly today. After all, he had the blood of Orys Baratheon, the founder of the dynasty. A great general and a fierce warrior. A true Baratheon man.

Beside the armor was his weapon of choice. A great iron warhammer from the forges of Storm's End. The hand that made it was Donald Noye's, Steffon Baratheon's favorite smith. It was a rare choice, because a warhammer is usually clumsy and hard to handle. It was heavy and awkward to handle and not as agile as a sword. It was a weapon of brute power, which Robert felt reflect himself.

"Excuse me, milord," Michel's voice called out to Robert from the outside. "You are needed in the strategy tent. The lords have gathered for a final briefing before they sound the horns."

Robert answered back, "I'll join them shortly. Help me first with my armor, Mich."

Michel made way inside Robert's tent. He was already in his full armor, minus the helmet. "What can I do to help?"

"Just help me get inside this armor." Robert grunted as he struggled to put the hauberk on. "That's the easy part, I think. I swear it still fits when last I use it in the Eyrie."

Michel laughed, "I'm sure it still fits, milord."

Robert raised his eyebrow in a sarcastic manner. "If I don't need you beside me today, I would have your head for laughing." Michel only laughed louder after that. "Just shut up and help me," Robert grumbled. It was not long before Robert finally slipped inside his armor. He left his helmet and warhammer with Michel and went to the strategy tent.

Every lord under the Arryn banner had already shown up at the tent. They were all dressed in their armor and ready for battle. Lord Arryn was seated at the center of the table, beside him were Lord Hunter and Lord Royce. Robert Baratheon was the last to arrive.

"Nice for Lord Baratheon to join us this morning," Lord Waynwood greeted him sardonically.

Before the other lords got the chance to react, Jon Arryn intervene, "Well, my lords, let's begin. Today will be the day we storm the castle. You all have known your role and duty in the battle."

He then turned to Robert. "Robert, as I said earlier this morning, you shall lead the van and take the walls. We did not have time to build a siege tower, but the maesters and builders have built a two dozens of ladders and hooks for you to climb the wall. You will have about a dozen score of man at arms and another dozen scores of new recruits with you. Take good care of them. They should be enough to take the wall."

Then he turned to Lord Hunter. "Lord Eon, that's where you come in. You will be directing the archers and give covering fire to the van. Give them enough pressure just to make them fear of lifting their heads and shoot back."

Finally he turned to Lord Royce. "Lord Royce, is your army ready?"

"Yes, milord."

"Good. You shall take the harbor by small canoes, courtesy of our spies in the cities. You will lay down and wait for their signal. Once you have been signalled, take over their ships, and cut off their escape route."

Lord Arryn then proceed to address the entire Lords. "The rest of you shall be with me in taking the city after Robert capture the wall and open the gates." He then paused for a moment.

"I want the city of Gulltown surrendering by mid noon. I believe that each and every one of you can contribute greatly in this first campaign. And a final word. I want this battle to be clean and disciplined. No pillaging, raping, or any other kind of disorderly conduct. Tell each of your men to hold the celebration till after the battle. The entirety of the support we get depends on how we fight today. An honorable battle can sway much to our cause. May the Gods save us all."

And then the entire assembly dispersed. There was a long bellowing of trumpet. Robert knew it signals the start of the assault. He made way outside, finding Michel is ready with his helmet and warhammer. He put them on and made way to the front lines.

It was a cloudless sky that late morning. The army had assembled in a hill just out of archer's range from the walls of the city. Robert never seen this many men assembling in one place. He had an almost two dozen scores of men under his command. Two dozen scores which he need to lead or else he will be sending their bones home. Doubt of his ability was nagging him on the back of his head. Was he ready? Was he brave enough to face the odds? He thought all of this from behind the antlered helmet.

"Are you ready, my boy?" Jon Arryn rode his horse beside Robert's. It was a beautiful grey steed. Robert had met it before in the Eyrie stables.

"I'm ready as I'll ever be, Jon," he answered plainly.

"Your pose betrays you, Robert," Jon pointed out. "You look like a man about to jump off a tower, yet still leaves one foot behind the window."

Robert pull off his helmet and dipped his head. "Maybe you're right, Jon. Maybe I am not-"

Jon Arryn did the unexpected. He slapped Robert senseless. "Don't you say that you are not ready for this. I have given you the privilege to be the van leader. You are a Baratheon man are you not?"

Robert nodded somberly. "Then start acting like one, or I swear to the Seven, I'll send your head to the Dragons in a jewel box. I did not raise you to be a wench, Robert. I raised you to be a leader. Someone whom the people could look up to. Don't make me add you to my list of failures."

For once, Robert heard what Jon said and settle it inside. "I will not fail you on this day," he said with a resolve. "You will see the stag banner on that wall, or you will know that I will be sent home in a coffin."

Jon gripped Robert's shoulder and hugged him. "Good. Then go to your men. They need a speech." As Robert turned away, Jon said once more, "And Robert, I'll always be proud of you. No matter what happens today."

Robert wore his helmet back and went to the anxiously waiting men. "I was never any good with a speech," he said under his breath. He took a deep breath before addressing them.

"My fellow men. My fellow brothers in arms. A score of nights ago, I received a raven. It was written by blood stained hands. The hand which killed the brother and father of my best friend, Eddard Stark. It was also the hand which robbed me of my betrothed and justified it in front of the Gods. It was a greedy hand, and its menace doesn't end there. The hand also wanted another thing. My head liberated from my body. All because to prevent me opposing the rule. Well, the irony is that what they had sought to prevent, now came true. The hand that did all that were of King Aerys'. The Mad Tyrant which now holds the Iron Throne."

Robert noticed his hands begin to shake subtly. Adrenaline courses through his veins.

"Tell me. Do you want to be ruled by that man?"

The crowd roared to answer.

"I'm asking you again. Do you want to be rule by that man?"

Again the crowd roared.

"Then follow me today," Robert readied his warhammer and started to walk toward the wall. Each step felt lighter than before. "Follow me and I assure you that he will not lift his hand upon you!". Behind him was the loudest noise that he had ever heard. A cacophony of warcry and shouts followed down the hill, descending toward the city of Gulltown.

"Raise your shields men!" Robert commanded as arrows begin to rain down upon them from the wall. Robert saw few soldiers fell down with arrows sticking out of their body. That didn't stop him, but made him more determined to reach the wall. The others followed in his fashion as the answering hail of arrows came down on the wall. The defenders were forced to take cover on the parapets. _Thank the Seven for Lord Hunter and his bowmen._

Most of the formation made it to the edge of the wall. They threw their ladders to the wall and begin to climb it. Robert was one of the first one to set foot on the hastily built ladder. He prayed inside that it will hold the weight of an army. "Follow me men!" He shouted defiantly as he made it top of the wall.

Just as he landed his last feet, a sword came to greet him straight in the head. Robert didn't have enough time to arm his heavy warhammer or to dodge the attack. Miraculously, the sword bounced back as it hits Robert's helmet, leaving the defender with a dumbfounded face. Robert quickly exploit that moment of weakness and deliver a fatal blow to the defender.

Three more soldiers tried to cornered Robert with their pikes. One of the soldiers thrusted the pike toward Robert, but he dodged it. Just as the soldier pulled the pike back, Robert pulled it towards him. Sending the soldier down the wall. The other two hesitated their step. Robert gave off a shout before sending them both flying with his war hammer.

More defenders flooded the walls, but Robert stood defiant against all that. With every blow he scored a kill, and with every step he dodged an attack. His head was in an automated mode. Dodge, hit, kill, and repeat. He heard no sound but only his cry and his enemy falling.

"Robert! Look out!" A voice come from behind him. It was Michel. Instinctively Robert turned his head behind. A soldier had taken him by surprise and kicked Robert in the chest. Robert staggered, but did not fall. The soldier was now running toward him heads on. In the midst of all that, Robert suddenly froze. Just as the soldier was on top of him, Michel came to the rescue. He used his sword to cut the attacker in half. Hot red blood came out of his mouth and eyes.

"Thank goodness. I saved you didn't I?" Michel said with a grin. His breath was laboured and his sword was thick in blood. "I almost didn't see you there. We have the wall now, Robert."

"Aye. That we do." Robert replied. In the corner of his eye, he saw a knight in white armor with a burning tower emblazoned in its chest. The knight was rallying the defender for one last push. "It seems that someone is ruining our plan. A Grafton on the wall! He is a fool to come here. He should have stayed behind a barred door. When dusk comes, he shall be with his men." Both of them shouted as the ran to the heart of the defense for the final push.

Their cries split apart the defence, making the Grafton an easy target. The knight dodge Michel's thrust, only to find himself in the way of Robert's blow. The helmet crumpled in a wailing shriek of bludgeoned head. Blood came out of the slits of the helmet. All around the defender stood shocked. Robert could see that they are somehow hoping their commander would wake. Nevertheless, the slumped body of Lord Marq Grafton stand no more. The defenders dropped their weapons in an echoing clang and kneel solemnly to their new ruler.

When it was over, the wall was painted in deep red. The unforgiving summer sun baked the silent town while crows and other carrion began to circle hungrily. The red blood caked every surface of the wall. Smell of death hung low on the wall. The dead Grafton soldiers looked blankly to their city. Their face froze in time when they died. Some screamed silently and some were the look of despair. Blank void seemed to crept in where their soul left empty. They all watched the city. It was their last watch.

Robert stood there among the wreckage he had wrought. His breathing was heavy as adrenaline began to dissipate. He looked around. Each of the dead soldiers seemed to cast an accusing and hateful gaze to him. Robert felt sick. His shoulder was heavy. It was like each of those dead soldier weight was on his shoulder. In the back of his mind, he could hear faint whispers of the dead. _Why had you done this? Have you no mercy? It was your fault. Look at us. We are dead because of __**you.**_

Robert looked back to the city. The once grey roads and white towers were crimson. Fire and smoke rages below. Somehow his warhammer slipped from his hand, landing in a dull thud.

* * *

Postscript : Thank you again for reading and following this journey with me. You are awesome! As always, critiques and suggestions are welcome!


	5. Chapter 5 - Aerys Targaryen

A/N : Hello dear readers and followers! Welcome back for another chapter of FiI! I'll admit this chapter is a bit experimental and shorter than my other chapters, but I had fun making it! It was something new for me to write about. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy it!

* * *

Ch. 5

Aerys Targaryen

The night air breeze swept upon the hallowed Great Halls of the Red Keep. The wild winds woke the sleeping banners from their still slumber. Red dragon danced on an obsidian black sky. The symbol of the Targaryens. The low night torches casted imposing shadows, encroaching the hall to the old beams of the rooftops. They seemed to swallow the already deserted hall.

Aerys was in his nightgowns when he walked to the hall. He was barefooted. His thin old bones supported every step he made. His hands were adorned with long vicious nails. Over the years as a king, he had developed a fear to all blades. It was the work of the vile Iron Throne, cutting his hands and his legs to pieces as he sat on them. Grandmaester Pycelle treated him as best as he could, but Aerys' injury never fully healed. Those leftover memory of injury painted his body with scars and scabs.

A group of serfs once whispered the words 'hideous', 'monstrous', 'despicable' and even 'a mad king' behind his back. Sure enough, the next day their tongues were purified with fire. As with their whole body were turned to ashes. They were dumped just like that in Flea Bottom. Like a dust they are.

The King remembered faintly why he went to the hall late in the night. He remembered he can't stand sleeping in the same bed as the Queen. Aerys had believed that his wife was devoid of all usefulness, other than sating his carnal urges in bed. However, lately, even his wife began to slack in bed. Aerys had to implement some crafty "motivation" to keep things going. Those motivations usually involves forcing or hitting her. Somehow, Aerys found ecstasy in hearing the woman's cry and screaming every night. It was almost like a drug to him. Sometimes, his wife would wake up with bruises and scratches from the rough night before. Aerys didn't feel sorry at all. What love was there between him and his wife was now a distant memory.

That night, Aerys couldn't sleep, just like every other night for the past few weeks. He opted to do what the Grandmaester said to him. A good night walk through the halls will make him sleep soundly he said. Better that than drinking milk of the poppy. Who knows what wretched hands will poison the drinks that he takes. Aerys didn't want to give an opening for an assassination as much as the next man that will sit on the throne. He didn't want to die yet.

With each step, Aerys felt the floor becoming rugged and every stone that was set seemed to squirm. Aerys blinked his eyes. Once. Twice. He found that the floor was moving! Thousands upon thousands of black bugs crawled beneath his feet. Fear told Aerys to scream as loud as he can, but his voice whimpered and passed away. The bugs began to crawl into his legs and onto his body, seizing every opportunity to feast on his withered frame. Aerys called out to his Kingsguard. There was no reply. Where is Barristan the Bold? Where was Lord Dayne with his Dawn?

"They have betrayed me!" Aerys cried in the back of his mind. "They have betrayed me to death! My protectors! My saviors! They killed me. " Hordes of the black mass came after Aerys as he started to choke.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a beacon of hope. A lit fire. The flaming mistress danced with eyes open in lust. She was calling for Aerys. The fire moved sensually, enticing Aerys to come closer. It called him. It had longed him. His mistress called him. Aerys walked through the engulfing shadow of the bugs. His throat burned and his eyes watered. Each step was like a knife plunging to his heart. But Aerys kept on going. The fire shall cleanse this hall. They will burn everything to ashes. He is so close, so close to the flame. It kept calling his name with its haunting voice.

Finally Aerys came and stood in front of the torch. He raised his hands, trembling, to reach the fire. As Aerys hand gripped the hot handle of the torch, he exploded in ecstasy. Each part of him was bliss. He felt his vigor and youth returned from the unknown parts of him. He felt could take on the world if he wanted to.

Aerys strength came back like it once was in the days of the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He remembered riding bravely to the field of battle with legendary warriors such as Brynden Tully and his dear friend, Steffon Baratheon. He was there when Ser Barristan cleft Maelys' head from his body. He was there when the army landed in the Stepstones and met with a hail of arrows and shouts.

Snapping back to reality, King Aerys swinged his torch to the encroaching bugs. Little flashes of red hot ember flew from the heart of the fire. The bugs screamed as flame pierced their hides. Aerys listened it with glee, laughing and dancing. The flame suddenly caught to the neighbouring bugs, turning into a sea of flames. It engorged everything in its way, like a hungry pack of wolves in the middle of winter. The unholy feast left charred black corpses on the ground.

As the floor opened up, the king strode pompously to the throne. Beneath him was a long red silken carpet that showed the way to the Throne. He looked sideways and he could see all the lords, ladies, knights, merchants, even smallfolks of the realm looking at him. King Jaeherys, Aerys' late father, used to say that the darkest cloak can disguise a man, but it only took a gaze in his eyes to know his deepest secrets. All of their eyes expressed love to their new King. Love and loyalty unwavering. They were giving him their allegiances. They were his father's subject, but now they are all his. Their life, their soul, their flame all belongs to the crown. It was rather ironic that such huge burden resides on a tempered piece of gold jewelry.

The High Septon was standing ready in front the Iron Throne, up a few steps of the hall. In his hands were the golden crown of dragons. Aerys could judge that he was eager to crown the new king. A new era the smallfolks said on the streets of Kings Landing. A new era of change and prosperity, under the new hand of a new dragon. They had such naive hopes in their eyes. Aerys mused in his mind that is what differs them from lords and ladies. Smallfolks dream sweet hopeful dreams, while lords and ladies dream red nightmares.

Behind the Septon, he could see Tywin Lannister standing regal and proud in a gold and red dress. In his breast, the sigil of the Hand of the King was polished and shone brightly. His eyes were warm and welcoming toward his old friend. Aerys had appointed him the day before. It was when Aerys officially assumed office after his father was buried with fire. He quickly consolidated his power and influence on the throne with the aforementioned appointment.

Beside him also stood Joanna Lannister, the only women who could take Aerys' breath away. Today she wore a red dress that he had given her. Her golden long hair flowed over her open neckline into her hips. She smiled seductively at Aerys. He knew that tonight was not going to be a cold and quiet night on the Red Keep.

When Aerys finally reached the end, he knelt and the High Septon gave a few words of prayers. Finally he lowered the crown to Aerys head and announced the coronation to the whole country.

"Hear ye, hear ye, people of the Crownlands, the Westerlands, the Reach, the North, the Stormlands, the Vale, the Riverlands, and the Iron Islands. By the power bestowed to me by the Seven Gods, I present to you, your king!" A round of applause and cheering rose from the crowds. "King Aerys of the House Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. To him you lend your allegiance and loyalty. What say you?"

"We are your subjects. We will pledge loyalty unwavering," rang the hall in unison. "Long live King Aerys Second of His Name! May his reign be blessed and full of wisdom," The High Septon said. "Now rise and greet your people my King."

There was a moment of silence, before Aerys stood and smiled at his new subjects. The hall erupted in a harmony of cheering. He was king at last. He could raise armies and make war with just a stroke of a hand. His words will be the final say in everything. A god among men.

"He is not our king." A cold voice rang out from the crowd. "He is not our king!" The hall suddenly became silent, not even a whisper was heard. Aerys suddenly felt everything so cold and the windows tinted in darkness. "He is not king. He is a madman." the voice said again. The crowd parted and there stood a group stranger clad in fur and black hood. Their heads lowered in the facade of shadow.

Sheer cold terror ran in Aerys' spine. He manage to summon bits of courage to ask the speaker in a commanding tone, "Who are you? I demand to know. Who are you and what is your purpose in my hall?"

"Don't you remember me, king?" He said in a coarse mocking voice. "Do you not remember my sweet voice?" There was something in his tone that made Aerys shudder. The deepest abyss of his ruined mind called out to him. "Do you not remember my royal treatment? Do you not remember those dark nights where I was beside you? Do you not remember this face?"

The man lowered his hood and Aerys gasped in horror. He recognized the face. Denys Darklyn. The man who broke the king. The once handsome face was now pale and rotten. His skin was slacking and open wounds infested with long rusted blades riddled it. Long grey patches of hair adorned the abomination of a face. However, it was the stench that drove Aerys near madness. The combination of rotten corpse and decomposition of flesh filled the room.

"No! Not you! I...I killed you," cried Aerys. "I killed you and your family! Guards! Guards!" Aerys looked around and see that the hall was empty again. He was all alone in his seat of power. Naked and vulnerable to his enemies. "They left me. Tywin, Barristan, my Kingsguards, all of them! Curse their name and their children for ages! Curse them!"

"You see, my king," Denys spoke again. "Even they know that you are not their king. You never were." He let out the most demonic laugh that Aerys ever heard. The figures beside him one by one lowered their cowl. From each of them, a monstrous figure came out laughing in a discordant harmony. They all bear the dread faces of enemies that Aerys had faced. The Ninepenny Kings which once invaded his father's realm, the Council of Iron Bank of Braavos which once threatened to bankrupt the kingdom, the House Darklyn and Hollard of Duskendale, and lastly, the company of Brandon and Rickard Stark. Their bodies were all in various state of decay. Some had long dark blades in their hands or needles protruding through the skin, some were ashen and charred.

The main door suddenly flung open and from it emerged two figures. Aerys knew from the sigil emblazoned on their chest that they are Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon. In their eyes burned primal hate and vengeance. Their heads were adorned with crowns of the Targaryens, mocking those age old artifacts. Behind them were an army of wolves and stag. "The head of the king," they chanted continuously. "The head of the king on a silver plate." The chanting grew louder and louder. It drowned the hall like a sweeping gale.

"No! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Aerys screamed hysterically. "Begone! Go away!" He threw his crown to the crowd. "Take it! Take all of it!" Aerys cower back in fear as the chanting crowd began to move toward him. He fell down to the floor and his long nails broke off. Blood began to seep through his skin.

"The head of the king. The head of the king on a silver plate," they continue to chant as they get nearer and nearer. The army of wolves and stag let out their growl to accompany the chanting.

"Stay back! Back!" Aerys screamed again. He dragged himself through the floor before his hand finally hit something cold. He realized it was not the stone cold of a wall, but of steel. He glimpsed what was behind him. It was the Iron Throne of Aegon. It sits motionless, but dread loomed around it. Somehow it was smiling ominously toward the fallen king. Aerys pulled his hand back and fresh warm blood flowed out of his palm. He had cut himself on the throne again. A shrill cry of pain came out of Aerys' vocal chord.

The crowd were already on the steps of the throne on their way up. The chanting grew louder as they took each step nearer to Aerys. The fallen king just stood there wide-eyed and mouth gaping. He did not know who to call for help. His Hand had fled. His Kingsguard retreated to parts unknown. Aerys could feel his heartbeat increasing, blood flowed profusely from the slash on his hand. It dripped to the floor, forming a pool of congealed crimson blood.

Aerys' vision began to blur and out of focus. His breathing laboured and hefty. Slowly, the feeling of his fingers and toes disappear. A prickling sensation of thousand pins and needles ran through his body. First from the ends of his arms and legs then slowly progresses up toward his head. He couldn't move a muscle nor scream. All he could do was blink and wait for the crowd to consume him. Each time he closed and opened his eyes, the crowd get nearer and nearer, until they are right on top of him.

The two leaders, Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon rose their weapons for a blow. "The head of the king. The head of the king on a silver plate," they chanted. "It is his star's fate. For the Mad King will topple from his throne." Aerys' blinked again as his perception began to fade. "The real king shall be shown. Of red and gold shall be borne."

Aerys blinked the last time. When he opened his eyes, it was not Eddard Stark nor Robert Baratheon who greeted him, but it was Tywin Lannister with his weapon ready to strike. Beside him was Joanna Lannister. She wore a different dress from before. It was black where it had been red.

There was also a third figure in the midst. A tall graceful man with long silver hair. He bore the armor of Aegon the Conqueror. Shadow covered his face, but Aerys knew who it was. The king knew that it was none other than Rhaegar, his son. Aerys had long suspected Rhaegar wanted to topple him and became king himself. Aerys should have killed Rhaegar with that wench mother of his long ago. The figures whispered with a blank look, "Of red and gold shall be borne." Aerys laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed till his voice couldn't be heard no more. Then the weapon fell toward the king. Aerys let out a silent scream before shutting his eyes.

Aerys could only hear his heart beat. Once. Twice. Thrice. Was he not dead yet? Aerys opened his eyes. They were gone. The crowd, Stark, Baratheon, Lannister, they were all gone away. However, the feeling of weakness haven't gone yet. Aerys still couldn't stand up nor let out a shout of help. Suddenly, he heard a rushing of footsteps. It echoes through the cavernous hall. A globe of light moved in the void.

"Hello?" Someone called out from the darkness. "Who goes there?" The globe of light was getting closer. "Whoever you are, show yourself!" The disembodied voice commanded. "Father? Was that you?"

A second ball of light joined in the room. "My liege. I heard screaming and shouting." A voice said. It was different from the one that called out before. "I came as fast as I could from the White Tower. The others are on their way as we speak."

"Over here," Aerys managed to croak out. "Over here." The orbs of light came toward the bleeding king. When they got near enough, Aerys could see it was Rhaegar and beside him was Jamie Lannister. Was he too late? Aerys pondered that question. An alliance between his son and the Lannister. Was he too late?

"Father!" Rhaegar called as he grabbed his father. "What happened to you? You are bleeding! Quick Jamie, call the maester! Drag him off from his bed if you have too. Tell him the king needs help."

"Right away, my lord," Jamie answered. He rushed away from the scene back toward the darkness.

"It's alright, father. I'm here," Rhaegar said in a calming tone. "It's just a nightmare. Everything will be alright in the morning."

Aerys raised his hand to grab his son's collar. He croaked, "The cursed Throne. Take it. All of it. Even the nightmares." Aerys blinked for the last time. "All of it." Then the world went grey and black.

* * *

Postscripts :

And so ends the chapter of Aerys' madness. It was quite a difficult chapter to write, since a. I'm not a king and b. I'm not a mad king. I tried to play around his fears and his suspicions a bit in his hallucinations. At this point, it is known that the king was extremely paranoid, even to his hand, Tywin and his son, Rhaegar. He suspected that both of them wanted to topple his rule.

Alright then, this concludes the postscripts. I hope you all will be excited for the next chapter! A lot of thanks to you loyal awesome readers and also comment and critiques are welcome!

P.P.S : I don't know why, but I imagined Aerys played by John Malkovich in this chapter. Just a random, fleeting thought. What do you guys think?


	6. Chapter 6 - Arthur Dayne

A/N : Hello again awesome readers. I think this is the first time I actually publish on time. So, yay! I'm going to do a little victory dance, while you sit back and read this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 6

Arthur Dayne

It was a crisp Dornish summer morning. The yellow sun was just coming up from behind of the Red Mountains. Streaks of orange and red highlighted the tall peaks of the mountain range, driving away the shadows of the night.

Arthur remembered that tales he heard from the maesters of his hometown, Starfall, when he was just a simple, but curious kid. The maesters said that the world is shaped like a round ball. If you go far enough, you'll certainly wind up going to the same place you were before. They said that each morning the sun makes its daily travel through the sky and each night it traveled the opposite part of the world. That's why the sun always comes up at the same place in the sky, they argued.

Being in Dorne again elicit distant memories from the depths of Arthur's mind. He closed his eyes and remember those years that had gone by. The memories of his teen years with his sister Ashara rushed in. They were virtually inseparable then. From hunting to riding to training, Arthur remembered those amethyst eyes always beside him. Arthur loved his sister dearly. She was his best friend, his confidante, and his most trusted ally. He had shared his hopes and fears with her and she would do the same. But it was not always that way.

In his youth, the knights of Dayne had taught Arthur how to become a fearless warrior. They taught him how to wield a sword properly, how to ride a horse to battle, and how to disarm an enemy the fastest way. The one thing they never trained him for was to be a human being. Sure they taught him all about how to kill one (or in some cases, dozens), but they never taught him how to behave courtly or honorably. The one that educated him that was Ashara. She was the one that made him humble and respectful to all people, even the smallfolks. He had learned firsthand from her usual "disappearances".

Their mother always said that the walls of Starfall were not tall enough to contain Ashara's spirit. Arthur knew long before their parents did that she sneaked out to the city outside the castle early in the morning and mingle with the common people. Ashara was never disgusted by their simple demeanor or the fact that they smelled no better than a spoiled dinner cheese. On contrary to most nobles, she enjoyed the time being with them as much as she enjoyed being with her family. As long as Arthur had known her, she looked more like one of the smallfolks not the nobility. The castle life never suited her inquisitive nature.

When their parents managed to found out why Ashara was "disappearing" all morning and missing her classes with the maester, they forbade her to go out again. They even posted more guards at the gates. Arthur knew that that wouldn't stop Ashara. If anything, that would just made her want to go out more. It turned out that Arthur was right.

Ashara did sneaked out a couple more times before their parents found out about it again. They were furious and was ready to lock Ashara up. He could remember how pale and full of fear Ashara's face looked. Seeing that in his sister, Arthur intervened. He lied to his parents and said that he was the one that's dragging Ashara away from the castle this time. He was the one that wanted to go out and see the city. Of course their parents' fury was still there, but now it was directed at Arthur. In the end, the punishment wasn't all that bad. His father said that Arthur would have more training time and he also cut Arthur's free time for classes with the maester. Arthur didn't mind at all. In fact, he took the chance to learn more than he could have and practiced harder than he had.

Arthur's action had somehow made Ashara closer to him. She started to listen to her brother more. She would accompany Arthur on his daily training with the knights and his classes with the maester. Sometimes she even trained with him till dawn or accompany him in reading an old worn out manuscript given by the maester. In the evening and well after training, she always tended to his wounds and bruises carefully under the low light of torches.

"Ash, why do you care for these people?" Arthur once asked her out of curiosity. "They are not your burden to bear. You have no obligation to them directly. Maester Wynn said it is our father's job as a lord to look out for them, not ours. Well not yet at least."

Ashara smiled looked at him with a pitiful gaze. "My dear brother, I think that you spend too much time burying yourself in old moldy books. I'm afraid it has turned your mind to mush," she said laughing.

"And yet it is always me that pull you out of trouble," Arthur replied. "But really, I want to know why you don't want to stay behind the safety of these walls."

"Do you ever go out from the castle, Art?" She asked. Her eyes were full of seriousness.

"Of course I have. I always accompany father to the gates when he's going on one of his travels," Arthur replied defensively. "I'm not some stuck up nobility that won't even go out of their castle."

"Yes, yes. I know you're not. But have you ever really go out from the castle?" She asked again. "Have you actually seen the people? Have you actually talked to them? See their everyday lives? Know them personally? Ask of their nightmares and dreams?" Arthur shook his head admittedly. He has never bothered himself with the smallfolks. Why should he? He was a lord's son, not the lord himself.

"That's the point, Art. The world is so much bigger and richer than your books or your trainings. You can build a wall tall enough that it rivals that in the North to keep the big world out of your own little one, but you can't argue that it is not there. Sooner or later, you have to go out and brave the uncharted waters that is the world," Ashara explained. Her voice was full of energy and passion.

"These people, Art," she stared out of the window of the tower. Her gaze was fixed to the sprawling city that is battered with sunlight. "Someday they will be your people. Tell me my brother, how do you think they will look at you if you never look at them? Will they look at you and cower in fear, or will they cheer your name in love?

"It was never any obligation or duty as a lord to take care of them. It is the basic duty as a human that we take care of each other. If we don't, what differs us from the cows that we eat or the roaming wolves of the night? Nothing I say."

There was a moment of silence as Arthur let those words sink in. What her sister had said was undoubtedly right. He is the heir of the throne of Starfall. He should know his people so that they know him in return. Maybe being a ruler is not about sitting high on a throne after all. Maybe it is about sitting at the dinner tables of the people. Or maybe it is about being the person that your people can cry, laugh, and weep at.

Arthur made a resolution that day. "Will you teach me then, Ash? Will you take me and make me see the world?" Ashara replied the same way that Arthur knew, with a smile.

The next morning, Ashara invited Arthur in her daily "disappearance". She showed him how life is beyond the confined halls of the castle. For the first time in his life, Arthur could see what people suffered daily. Their parents were a good ruler and always looking out to their people, but that was still not enough. There were people starving and begging on the streets. Ashara usually bought them flat breads from the market. She also made time and taught a group of elderly women the art of sewing. She have this warm and sweet smile that gave hope to them. Arthur now understood that it was the same smile that brought many man to their knees

Arthur and Ashara had once traveled outside Starfall before Arthur was appointed at a Kingsguard. Of course, the trip was without their parents knowledge. It was when their parents was traveling on a diplomatic mission to Sunspear.

Arthur remembered setting out in an early winter dawn. Those two haunting violet eyes riding beside him on a golden mare. They rode together from the birth of the river Torrentine to where there was only the blue sea to the horizon. Along their way, they met people of different upbringings and they all have their own stories to tell. It was not seldom that they found themselves listening intently to a stranger's tale of wonder and fantasy beneath the starry skies of Dorne.

Arthur had been to many places in his days as a member of the Kingsguard, but he had never found a place that is as beautiful as the Dornish landscape garnished with the fiery sun ray of the morning. Not even the rolling hills and the rainbow gardens of the Reach, the high towers and deep woods of Stormlands, the golden caves and bustling cities of Westerland, or even the metropolis King's Landing could make him forget about home. Now he is closer to home than he had ever been. If only he can visit it

"Already dreaming in the morning, are we now?" A gruff voice called out to Arthur. Arthur looked back and saw it was Oswell Whent, his brother in the Kingsguard. He was in a Kingsguard usual attire that is white armor with white cape, although Arthur always thought it was too big for him. "You have been far from focus ever since Rhaegar said to the Young She-Wolf that he'd take her to see Dorne. I may be young, but I'm not dumb or blind. You have been…oh how you say it? Ah, distant. You have been distant on the road, when we're visiting the ruins of Summerhall, and now here."

"As a matter of fact, yes, I have been dreaming." Arthur answered. "I was thinking about home and my sister. I had planned to meet her, but one thing led to another, and instead, we're stranded here waiting for further instructions. I miss my home, Os. Don't you?"

Oswell grinned. It showed rows of yellowed teeth. "Don't I? My home is a big dark palace that is full of bats and the moaning of ghosts that badgers you at ungodly hours. I think it is certain that I don't miss home," he answered defiantly. Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Maybe a little," he paused. "Okay, I do miss it. Sometimes."

"Then you know why I dreamt of home, Os," Arthur said. "It is a longing that I can't cure until I see that Palestone Sword Tower shining on the horizon."

"Just be careful of dreams, my friend. Because dreams are the root of obsession. And obsession sometimes lead good man astray," he warned Arthur in a grave voice. "But then again, what is a man if he is not led astray? Maybe for instance, by the woman we're guarding?" He laughed. Oswell Whent had a reputation of being a joker. Arthur couldn't remember a time when he didn't laugh in a conversation.

"Careful there, Os. In Starfall there's a saying 'loose tongue often finds itself attached to a loose head'," Arthur said. "I don't know how loose yours is, but pray that you don't lose your head by using it. Our king is…." Arthur paused, searching for the right word to use.

"Mad? Manic? Insane? Frenzied? Crazed? Deranged? Paranoid?" Oswell suggested, grinning. "Shall I go on?"

"Unpredictable. Our king is unpredictable these days. So I recommend that you tie your tongue up a bit. Nobody knows what is going on in that head of his," Arthur warned. "That's why we need to be careful in each step we take."

"Oh, don't be naive, Art! You know as well as I do, that the king is not fit to rule. Ever since that Duskendale and Darklyn business, he has always looked over his shoulder more than once. He even alienated his most powerful ally, Tywin Lannister, and for what? So that he could feel safer? I doubt that he felt that," Oswell said, defending his statement. "Times are changing, Art. It is up to you follow the winds of change, or be still and fade as a footnote in history."

Arthur sighed. Dangerous words like this were considered treason for a reason. It can turn a loyal man to a backstabber and trusted words to a deception. Arthur felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. It didn't sit well with him to be having this conversation, although deep in heart, he knew Oswell was right. "What ever our choices in the future may be, we are still bound by the Kingsguard's oath that we took. We still have a duty to guard the king and his family."

"And what about the duty to the people? We are supposed to be the white gallant knights in their sweetest songs and deepest stories. People revered us, Art. They look up to us. Everybody that was born wants to be us. " Oswell said. The wind picked up and flutters his cape. A symbol of purity Arthur remembered. Oswell lowered his head, lamenting, "It pains me to think that we are, in fact, just a tool for the king to use. A mute sword that does everything the wielder commands it to do. What a cruel world we live in, Art." This time, Arthur stayed silent. What Oswell had proclaimed was without fault.

Arthur's thought went back to the day he took the vows as a Kingsguard. The month before, he had taken another vow for another office, the office of The Sword of the Morning. He inherited his house most precious treasure, the greatsword Dawn. It was as sharp as Valyrian Steel, but as light as a feather. The sword gave off an eerie dull white glow. Legend has it that the sword was forged from a heart of a fallen star. The story goes about how a group of twenty blacksmiths worked on it for twenty days and twenty nights. The sword was passed on through the Dayne lines and given to those exceptional ones that could be bestowed the burden of the office of Sword of the Morning. Arthur was one of those lucky ones.

The day that the raven from King's Landing brought the king-sealed letter was the day that Arthur wished he could change. His regret that day concerned his sister, Ashara. While his parents took the news of his instatement as a Kingsguard with pride and dignity, Ashara took the news hard. She locked herself in her room the rest of the day. That night, Arthur could hear Ashara crying from her room. He knew why she was crying. By tomorrow's morning, Arthur will be riding to King's Landing with their parents to officially take the office, leaving Ashara alone with her baby sister. A pang of guilt hit Arthur that day as he realized that he had never left his sister all by herself. There was always Ashara beside Arthur.

Gathering the courage to say his farewells, Arthur knocked on Ashara's door. The crying stopped, but nobody opened the door. He called out his name and knocked again. Still no answer. Arthur tried again and again for a while and the reply was still the same, silence. Arthur finally relents and said to the silence that he will be there all night long, not moving from his position. That night Arthur slept on the cold stone floor of Starfall, his back leaning on the perpetually closed door that often he had opened times before. He had hoped that his sister would at least gave him the privilege of a goodbye. That didn't happen.

The next morning when Arthur woke up, the room was empty and bed was made. His sister was nowhere to be found. There wasn't even a trace of her presence on the room, safe for a tear stained pillow that sat on the edge of the bed. Arthur wondered if his sister even slept last night.

Arthur spent the rest of the morning scouring the city for her, without any luck. He had visited the place where Ashara taught sewing. He visited the bakery where Ashara use to buy bread. By midday, he still haven't found his sister. His mother advised him that if Ashara didn't want to be found, then there is no chance for him to find her. She suggested that Arthur just wrote a parting letter and put it on her bed and so they could go to King's Landing on schedule.

Arthur heeded her words and decided to write a letter. He didn't know what to say, or more appropriately he didn't know what not to say. There was a lot of things he wanted to confide in her that the piece of paper couldn't even contain a sliver of it. Arthur remember he sat in his room, doing the letter over and over again, trying to find the right words to say without avail. Eventually Arthur wrote a letter that he thought it could encompass all his feelings. It was a very simple letter with only two words. it says, "Find me." The letter was folded and put on top of Ashara's bed. And then Arthur left Starfall and rode to King's Landing.

One day into the journey, a crazed horse and its covered rider intercepted the Daynes. The rider demanded to be let into the camp. When she took off her cowl, the face of sunburnt Ashara Dayne greeted the guards. She had found Arthur's letter and rode that very moment to meet her brother. It was a beautiful reunion. Arthur and Ashara talked all night long. They reminisced their youth and talked about their future. But there was one part that Arthur remembered till this day

"Arthur," Ashara said that night. "Promise me one thing when you take the vow."

"What?" Arthur asked.

"Promise me that you won't change," Ashara said. Her violet eyes pleaded at him. "You are the most honorable, kind, and humble man I know. I hope that you wear the white armor not with pride, but with modesty. It is a symbol of hope, not fear. It is not only to show duty to the king, but also to the realm and its people. I hoped there will not be a day where you will have to choose between them, but if it does happen, I hope that you'll make the right choice."

Arthur could only laughed then. If only he knew how prophetic that statement was. "I promise you I won't change and I will not be conflicted in my duty. The king is a good man and a good leader. He had shown that in the wars. I would follow him."

"Good," Ashara replied. "Write often, will you?"

"I will."

That was the last time Arthur had talked to his sister face to face. He didn't go back on his promise and wrote to her as much as time would give him to he would give now for hearing the voice of his sister again.

The morning light beam hit Arthur on his eyes, pulling him back to reality. "How was she, Os?" Arthur asked his companion.

"Surprisingly good, considering that she didn't sleep these last few days amid the tossing and turning of blanket," Oswell answered. "The Starks are famous for their strength, Art. This one is no exception. You don't need to worry for her well being.

"What worries me is that we haven't got any news from anywhere. It has been days since I saw a raven flew over the mountains or riders crossing the Prince's Pass. Either every merchant in the south of Westeros suddenly became septons or trouble is brewing that made them afraid to travel," Oswell said grimly, "For our sake, I hope it is the former. I'm also worried that Rhaegar hasn't even sent a raven yet, like he said he would when he arrived at King's Landing. He should have arrived yesterday. Something is afoot and I doubt it is anything good."

"Have a little faith, my friend. Nothing bad is happening," Arthur assured him. Nevertheless, deep down, Arthur knew that something is wrong. The realization of isolation from the world scared him. What were he to do? All this time as a Kingsguard, he had acted on reliable information. Now he felt blinded by ignorance to events that is unfolding quickly.

"I'm going to check on Lady Stark, Os," Arthur said. "After that we'll need to forage for food. Our supplies are running low."

"Foraging food? In this barren hell hole land? I'd like to see you try," Oswell laughed. "I'd like to see how you magically produce food when there are only sand as far as the eyes can see."

"You'll be surprised what the land can offer, Os," Arthur said as he walked toward the tower. "This barren hell hole land manage to endure the dragons of the Targaryens for decades. You should have learned by now not to judge a book by its cover."

Oswell replied with a hearty laugh, "I'd like to see what the mighty dragonbanes of Dorne eat everyday."

Arthur climbed the rugged and mossy steps of the tower. On the way up, there were parts of the wall which had crumbled, leaving holes for light to sneak in. It is a marvel that the tower was still standing strong.

The tower itself was once an important outpost of the Dornish kingdom of old, to guard the Prince's Pass from northern invaders. It has changed hands to under the ownership of the House Fowler when Dorne submitted to the Targaryen. The tower had long since abandoned by the House Fowler, leaving it to be a shadow of what it once was.

On top of the tower was a large room which once housed the garrison. Now it only houses one guest, Lyanna Stark. Arthur felt it is a little bit ironic that the latest tenant of the tower is a northerner when its original purpose was to keep them out.

Arthur knocked on the wooden oak door. An old habit he picked up from his father. The years have not been good to the door, as it was deteriorated to the point it was useless to call it a door anymore. Inside the room, Lyanna Stark was lying down on the bed. It was not the best bed that fit for a lady, but it is comfortable enough for her. She was still sleeping, but she looked exhausted. Her beautiful face was full of worry and burden. Arthur wondered if she was having nightmares or dreams.

As Arthur sat on the edge of her bed, Lyanna's eyes fluttered open. "Good morning, Arthur," she greeted him with a smile. Her grey eyes gazed deeply to Arthur's pale purple one. She sensed something from those eyes and frowned, "Is it a good morning, Art?" She was one of a handful of people that called him Art. The nickname was usually reserved for close friends and family. Lyanna fell into the first category.

"Without a doubt, my lady," Arthur answered, smiling back. Arthur noted that she looked exceptionally beautiful today, even though she had just woken up. It is one of the features that Arthur love about her.

And yes, Arthur did love her. It was a forbidden emotion for a Kingsguard to have. As much as he wanted to distance himself from that feeling, it always came back at times he least expected. The feeling grew in Arthur since the Young She-Wolf impressed him at the tournament at Harrenhal. She reminded him too much of Ashara. A beautiful appearance that hid a hard iron disposition.

What happened at Harrenhal was that Arthur found out Lyanna was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. He was sitting on top of a tree just outside Harrenhal when a short knight came by carrying a shield with a smiling weirwood sigil. The knight took shelter beneath the tree began to take off his armor. To Arthur's surprise, the knight was not a man, but a woman. He had seen her before during the nightly feasts. She was Lyanna Stark, daughter of Rickard Stark. He came down the tree and greeted the lady. A hasty conversation followed and ended with Arthur making a promise to keep the identity a secret. He still kept that promise till this day and told nobody, save for Rhaegar, for which there was no secrets between them.

Arthur wondered for a long time what would happen if he could legitimately marry Lyanna. The fantasy haunted his dreams for a good long while. However, he knew and accepted that nothing could come from his feelings. He was a man of his vows. Marrying Lyanna would break vows that he took as a Kingsguard.

"Arthur," Lyanna looked him directly in the eyes. Her voice was stern. "Don't lie to me. My father says that I am a good judge of character. I know that you are hiding something, Ser Arthur Dayne. What is it?"

Lyanna had called his bluff. He had no choice but to tell her. "Permission to speak freely, my lady?" Arthur asked. Lyanna nodded. "I was thinking about home and my sister, Ashara. I was reminiscing my youth there. Being in Dorne brought back old memories of the adventures and occasional misadventures that I had with her. Times were sure easier then."

"I take it you two were very close then?" Lyanna asked curiously.

"Well, close is an understatement, my lady. We used to train together in the morning and rode through the Torrentine in the evening. I couldn't forget her free flowing hair caught in Dornish breeze on an orange dusk. It was a beautiful sight to behold," Arthur said, half imagining the scene. "What I would do to be back in Starfall again."

"Then why don't you?" Lyanna countered. "There's no one that could stop you from doing that right now. I certainly won't and I don't think that Ser Oswell have the balls to stop you from going away."

Arthur could only laugh in response. "My lady, I am sorry to say that your plan has one flaw that you have overlooked."

"Which is?"

Arthur explained to her, "The one that is stopping me from running away is myself. I have to constantly remind myself of the duty that Rhaegar had entrusted me, which is guarding you till he comes back from King's Landing. My personal needs are not greater than his orders. The title Kingsguard comes with the burden of unquestionable servitude."

"Humor me this, Arthur," Lyanna snickered sarcastically, "What is the difference between a privy and a Kingsguard if both of them have the burden of unquestionable servitude to their respective owners? They both can't run away from their duty and both of them have to deal with shit everyday."

She sighed, before continuing, "You are still a man, Arthur. A great man no less. You have a voice, don't you? You have a beautiful mind, don't you? Don't let some king rule over you without question. You are a Kingsguard not a Kingslave. You have to guard the king from every threat, even those which he inflicted upon himself."

Arthur sat there silent. The words of Lyanna settled inside his thoughts. Was she right?

"Arthur! Come down!" Oswell called from down below the tower. His voice resonated through the hollow center of the tower. "Arthur! Quick! There's something you should see!"

"Pardon me, my lady," Arthur said. "It seems my friend needs me for something very important." Lyanna replied with a smile and permission to go.

Arthur quickly descended the steep stairs as Oswell kept calling him. Something must have happened that needed his attention badly that it couldn't wait. Raiders? Bandits? Or something more pressing? A thousand of bad scenarios raged inside Arthur's mind, making him almost slipped twice.

"What is it, Os?" Arthur asked when he got down. He looked out and scanned the landscape briefly. There was nothing living as Arthur could see, so it can't be bandits. He turned and asked Oswell again. "What is so important that it couldn't wait?"

Oswell Whent stood there, his face pale. He rose his hand and gave Arthur a folded piece of paper. "A raven came bearing this. Read it for yourself." Arthur took the folded paper and unravel it. Inside, there was only four words. It spelt _We are at war_. The signature of Rhaegar was there on the bottom corner. Arthur Dayne, for the first time in his life, felt blood drained from his face in fear of things yet to come.

* * *

Postscripts :

This chapter actually explains some of the underlying theories that supports the story, I'm gonna leave it here in a neat list to recap:

1\. Lyanna was not abducted by Rhaegar. She just wanted to see the south and Rhaegar was also going to the south, to Highgarden in a diplomatic mission . So they went together. Arthur requested that he could visit Starfall after Highgarden. This is the reason why they winded up in Tower of Joy.

2\. The one that has feelings for Lyanna is actually Arthur Dayne. We'll see later how that develops.

3\. They didn't go straight to Tower of Joy. They went to Highgarden first and was already gone when the ravens bearing the news of the Starks deaths landed in Highgarden for the first time. This is to make the timeline more sensible and explains why they didn't hear about the news of the Starks deaths until much later.

So, feel free to tear this theories apart (constructively of course), I would love to hear what you think about it. Oh and another thing. I need a willing beta reader that is well versed in the ASoIaF lore and open to new theories that I may or may not think of in the future.

Anyways, thank you for reading this chapter and being a part in this story also! You guys are awesome!


End file.
